


You Could Be Mine

by lambchop33



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Bucky Barnes, Blow Jobs, Captain America Is Lonely, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Bucky, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shrunkyclunks, So much kissing, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, not safe sex, very consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambchop33/pseuds/lambchop33
Summary: Bucky Barnes never sees it coming when his buddy, Sam Wilson bringshisbuddy, Captain America, to visit him while he's recuperating in a hospital after a car accident.He never sees it coming when he finds out sexy, courageous, self-sacrificing Steve Rogers is also... lonely.One more thing he doesn't see coming? That he could possibly be the one destined to become the friend, the lover that Steve has been searching for ever since he came out of the ice.Or, the smutty Valentine's season AU no one asked for...





	1. You Could Be My Hobby

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers! Just a bit of fluffy pining and smut, just in time for VD. Hope you enjoy the Stucky love.

Chapter One

“So anyway, I’ve got this friend I want to bring with me tomorrow. You feeling up to it?” Sam’s dark head tilts to one side in emphasis of his words.

Setting his spoon down carefully in his pudding cup so it doesn’t tip, Bucky licks his lips. “Is it the redhead?”

Sam shakes his head violently. “No, man, you know I wouldn’t do that to you. Especially in your current condition.” That famous gap-toothed smile makes an appearance, and Bucky promptly flips him off.

“Current condition, my ass. Healthy or not, she’s the scariest woman I’ve ever seen, (really—he’s seen news footage of her fighting) so as long as it’s not her, I’ll pencil you in to my busy schedule.” He slowly and painfully adjusts a little, shifting his weight from one cheek to the other, picks up a pencil and pretends to write something on the hospital menu in front of him. He’d swear, hospitals bought the cheapest mattresses they possibly could so as to discourage people from lingering as patients too long. And don’t even get him started on those stiff, starched-to-infinity sheets. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep ever since the accident landed him in here. 

“Oh, right,” Sam jokes, “Your busy schedule of pudding tasting and TV watching. Got it.” He’s sitting in the Geri Chair next to Bucky’s bed, which was the hospital’s version of an armchair, only much more uncomfortable and unattractive. 

Picking up his spoon and jabbing it in Sam’s direction, Bucky adds, “I also whine endlessly and have therapy twice a day. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah. Therapy for your ass fracture.” Sam sits back, as though he’s proud of himself for thinking that one up.

“Pelvic fracture, dude. Pelvic fracture.” He takes a big slurpy bite of pudding, one of the few foods the hospital cafeteria staff couldn’t screw up, and savors the chocolatey goodness. 

Actually it was two ribs, one pelvic fracture, and about forty million bruises, but who was counting? Bucky thought it supreme irony that he’d made it through two tours in the middle east in a Para rescue unit without a scratch, and four months after getting back home to DC he gets creamed by a drunk driver who’d crossed midline. 

Sam laughs in an easy way, and Bucky falls silent for a moment, regarding him. Sam was maybe the best friend he had, and just having him here lifted his spirits immeasurably. They’d known each other a long time, from way back in the day. They were in the same flight group at Lackland, and they’d kept in touch ever since, even when their paths separated. He remembered how happy he’d been to learn that Sam was still here in DC working at the VA when Bucky had gotten his walking papers. 

He’d been out of civilian life for a long time—he was overseas when all that weird shit went down, first with the aliens (real fucking aliens!) attacking New York City, and then with that Hydra mess and those crazy floating aircraft carriers that went down here. He still had a hard time coming to grips with the fact that Sam actually fought in that battle, and that he knew some of the Avengers. So weird!

But Bucky didn’t care about any of that. He didn’t seek out fame, and he knew Sam didn’t either; he’d just gotten drawn into helping out someone in need after a chance meeting at the National Mall. If that someone was freaking Captain America and freaking Black Widow, well, that wasn’t Sam’s fault, was it? All Bucky cared about was that he had his buddy back. Sam had come to see him as soon as he’d heard about the accident, like the true blue friend he was. Of course, Bucky had pretty much tried to kick him out of his room that first day, but that was beside the point. 

Those first couple of days were rough, there was no denying it, and he didn’t particularly want to see anyone then, but things were slowly getting better. Slowly. He didn’t ordinarily like to self-medicate, but had to admit in the early going here that pharmaceuticals were a wonderful invention. He snaps back to attention, eyes refocusing on the dark-skinned man when he realizes he had asked him a question. 

“What?”

“I said, your fly is open, Barnes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs dryly. “Fuck off, Wilson.” 

If only he had real pants on that had a fly. Still, he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, clothing highly preferable to those awful hospital gowns he had to wear initially. Thank God his sister brought him some of his own stuff to wear. He scrapes the last bit of pudding out of the cup and sucks the spoon into his mouth upside down, licking it lovingly. He needs more pudding for later. Maybe he can sucker Sam into going down to the refreshment station to get some for him.

Sam guffaws openly at his not-too-original insult but then asks the more important question while Bucky is focused on his pudding situation. “When do they think you’re going to get out of here?” The Geri Chair squeaks underneath him as he sits forward on it. 

That subject draws a sigh. At this point the doctors can’t give him any sort of solid answer, much to his chagrin. “Not soon enough,” he hedges.

“You haven’t even been here a week.”

“A week too long,” Bucky asserts vehemently. He can’t wait to get the fuck out of here and go home to his place. 

“How’s your PT going?” 

Bucky pretends to swell up his chest with pride. “Well, yesterday I sat unsupported for thirty seconds without barfing all over myself, so that was good.”

Okay, that was an exaggeration. That only happened on the first day. His doctor wasn’t sure if it was due to anesthetic still working its way out of his system, or just that the pain from the fractures was so intense, it induced nausea. Being on the receiving end of that pain, Bucky was pretty sure it wasn’t just the anesthetic. Progress since that day had been much, much slower than he wanted and needed it to be, though he knows it’s through no fault of the medical staff here. But Sam’s face says he knows that a) Bucky is full of shit, and b) that he’s also too impatient.

“You know these things are gonna take time.”

“Whatever,” Bucky grumps, and changes the subject. “So who is this friend you’re bringing?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “It’s not a shrink, is it?”

The hospital staff had tried to sneak in a counselor to speak to Bucky shortly after his arrival here, in case he was having difficulty adjusting to his new “injury status.” He supposed it was because he was a vet, and depression was so common within that population these days, but seriously, he wasn’t having any of that bullshit. He’s always been a fighter, and this was just another bump in the road. He didn’t actually know how long full recovery would take, but he was fully confident in his ability to get there sometime soon. 

Sam is shaking his head at him. “No, it’s not a shrink. I’d sooner bring Natasha in here to smack you around if you needed it.” He holds up his hands when Bucky frowns at him. “But I’m not. He’s another military guy, relax.” 

Bucky’s face softens. “Another PJ?”

“Naw, he’s Army, but don’t hold it against him.” Sam grins. “We’re having lunch and then he’s going to be at the Children’s hospital, so I thought I’d bring him by to meet you.”

Squinting again, Bucky asks, “Why do you want him to meet me?”

Sam just huffs out a breath. “What, you can’t make new friends? I just want him to, that’s all.” He stands. “Gotta get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He holds out his fist and bumps it against Bucky’s when he lifts his as well. “Later.”

“Later,” Bucky repeats. Somehow he gets the feeling Sam is hiding something. And he doesn’t realize till he’s gone that he forgot about the pudding. Damn!

\--

After a typical restless night’s sleep, Bucky wakes the next morning feeling pretty grumpy. The scrambled eggs were runny, the toast burnt, and the OJ filled with disgusting pulp. For some people that might not be a big deal, but for a food-motivated guy like Bucky, it did nothing to improve his mood. _At least Sam is coming back later_ , he thinks with a sigh, pushing his plastic and metal tray away from the bed. His nurse aid comes into the room, a spunky, tiny slip of a girl named Gina. She helps him stand with the walker and make his way slowly to the bathroom, since he isn’t supposed to get out of bed on his own yet. 

That was maybe the hardest thing to deal with, even more so than the pain he was having. The lack of independence. Bucky hated asking anyone for help. The idea that he needed someone there just to go ten feet from the bed to the john was mortifying. They’d already caught him out of bed alone twice, though, and the nurse on the day shift, a usually easy-going, stocky guy named Andy, sternly threatened to take the walker out of the room completely if he didn’t behave himself. 

“Thanks, Gina,” he grouses when they reach the bathroom door. 

She smiles sweetly and tells him to push the call button inside the bathroom when he’s ready to come back out, then leaves him to his own devices. He can manage inside the small confines of the bathroom, with its cream colored walls, blue tile floor and lack of anything at all interesting to do or look at. There was a chair in the shower so he could bathe, and if he could say one good thing about the hospital, it was that the showers had great water pressure. Slowly he inches the wide door shut and peels off his shirt, placing it on the shelf next to the shower stall with the clean linen. Bringing his arms overhead hurts his ribs if he stretches too far, but it’s tolerable. 

He doesn’t take off his boxers until he gets into the shower stall and can sit down to do it. That he learned the hard way, after pushing them down to his ankles on his first try when he was standing, and then finding out he couldn’t bend over and get them off the rest of the way. The stabbing pain in his pelvis had taken him completely by surprise; it was like he was being ripped in half. So bending was out for a while, he had decided. 

Even sitting down and standing up was a difficult task. The hot water of the shower felt really good, though, and helped to energize him. After drying off, pulling on some clothes and going to the sink to brush his teeth, he takes stock in the mirror. Eyes that were more blue than grey stared back at him, above sharp cheekbones and an angular jaw. He’d been letting his dark brown hair grow out ever since he got home, but it was still pretty short. Typically he would put in a little bit of product and just finger the hair away from his forehead. For now, a comb would be sufficient. 

He rubs a hand over his face, thinking. Should he shave? He hadn’t cared at all how he looked when it was just his family, Sam, and Darcy coming to visit him; in fact he hadn’t tried to shave at all since his injury, so the stubbly beard he was rocking was looking a little scraggly. He didn’t really want to grow a full one anyway. Maybe he should shave. Especially since Sam was bringing company; he figured he could put in at least a little effort to make himself presentable.

After he brushes his teeth, he fishes around in the shaving kit his sister so thoughtfully packed for him, and lathers up. He’s only gotten halfway through his face when the pain of standing for so long without holding on to anything starts to become unbearable. His legs are shaking, and he’s broken out into a cold sweat. Even leaning on the sink doesn’t help at this point. 

It’s unacceptable.

With a muttered curse, he puts down a dry towel to sit on and retreats to the shower seat to rest. To rest! From _shaving!_ It takes several minutes for the shaking to stop and for the pain to diminish to a more normal level, during which Bucky has a bit of a mini panic attack. He can’t stand up for more than a few minutes. He has to remind himself to breathe slowly so he doesn’t hyperventilate. I mean, sure, the doctor told him he would need to use a walker for about three months while the bone was healing, but he thought that was more precautionary than anything else. And sure, his physical therapy so far had mostly been bed exercises and some slow walks in the hallway, using the walker, but he thought that was because they were just going easy on him. 

Now he suspects it’s because he can’t tolerate anything else. And that’s a scary thought. Really scary. For the first time, doubt creeps into his head. Doubt that he can go straight home from the hospital and manage on his own. Doubt that he can make a full recovery. Will he be able to go back to work soon, like he told Darcy he would? Would he be able to run again? Work out like he was accustomed to? Bucky is a big guy with a muscular frame—or at least, he was. How much muscle mass had he already lost? He had always prided himself on a certain level of physical fitness, and now it felt like all the strength had been drained from his legs. 

But as he sat there and let the pain calm back down, his fears did, too. This was just temporary. He’s been bedridden for near a week, or course he’s lost some strength. His doctor had assured him the pelvic fracture was stable, and should heal well. He just can’t expect overnight miracles. Slowly he pushes himself back up to standing and shoves the walker back over to the sink. The lather on his face dried up long ago, so he rinses and starts again. He’s able to finish, but it’s a close call and he has to go back to the shower seat to rest again when he’s done. 

He’s just about to hit the call button when there is a knock on the bathroom door. “Bucky?” The muffled voice is Gina’s. “You’ve been in there a long time, everything okay?”

“Yeah, come in,” he calls out. “I was just shaving.”

She pushes open the door, smiling. “Oh good, you were starting to look like a bear...” She stops short when she sees him sitting on the shower seat instead of standing. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he tries to sound confident but feels like his voice is dejected instead. “Just tired is all.”

She frowns. “That’s probably a lot more standing than you’re used to yet. Ready to walk back?”

He nods and lets her put the pink gait belt around his waist, even though he hates that goddamn thing. It makes him feel like such a fucking baby, but he knows it’s hospital policy, so he sucks it up. 

By the time he shuffles back to the bed, he feels like he needs a nap. He gets in a quick one, then the PT, a forty-ish woman with long hair piled up in a bun on top of her head and funky cat-eye glasses, comes in for their morning session of exercises. When they’ve finished the bed exercises, today is the first day she suggests they try some standing in place.

With a groan, Bucky informs her, “Already tried that this morning.”

“Oh?” she says curiously, pulling the walker in front of him where he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah. I shaved.” He reaches for the walker, then belatedly remembers he’s not supposed to do that, so he places both hands on the bed to push up from instead. 

Her eyes are on him as she asks, “And how’d that go?”

“Terrible.”

She’s shaking her head as she pulls a small timer out of the pocket of her navy scrubs. “Bucky,” she starts, using the nickname he’d requested. No one had called him James since he was a kid. In the service, everyone used last names, and he supposed he could have gone back to James when he resumed civilian life, but Bucky just felt more comfortable. More like home. “Don’t get too discouraged if you have trouble with this at first. Healthy people don’t realize how much coordination and posture control it takes to stand and use your arms functionally. It will get easier, I promise.” She puts the timer down on his tray table and cues him to stand. “Let’s start with a minute and see how that goes.”

She stands in front of his walker and puts her hand up in different spots, having him reach up repeatedly to touch her palm. She was right about the coordination part, as he feels exhausted when the timer starts beeping. He’s not so sure she’s right about the getting easier part. He’s thankful when therapy is done and he can grab another nap, and then before he knows it, it’s lunch time. 

His mid-day meal is its usual unimpressive fare. He’s contemplating asking Gina to help him walk down to the refreshment station so he can forage in the offerings there when Sam walks into his room. Sam and another man. A six foot wall of muscle, possessing blond hair, blue eyes, and the hearts of a million fangirls. Captain America.

Sam brought Captain Fucking America to see him. 

What the fucking hell is currently going on in his life. 

Sam grins broadly as they step into his room. “This is the friend I wanted you to meet.” He holds up one arm. “Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers.” 

“I _know_ who he is, Sam!” Bucky says disparagingly as Steve Fucking Rogers steps up next to his hospital bed and offers his hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he states, and Bucky grips his hand. It’s warm, softer than he expected from someone who beats up aliens with his bare fists. His voice is warm and mellow too. Bucky’s not sure he ever heard the man speak, since most of the time he was shown on the news it was footage of him saving the planet from various forms of doom. The good Captain was known to shun the media as a general rule and didn’t do interviews. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Captain,” Bucky replies, and even though that’s the polite response, he actually means it. He can’t stop his eyes from sweeping once over Steve’s frame. He’s wearing jeans and a navy polo shirt, both of which hug his body beautifully. Of course everyone knows Captain America has a great physique, but seeing it in person? Much more impressive. 

The most impressive part, though? That face. Creamy skin and pretty, red lips and eyes you stare into and drown a thousand times over. Bucky’s heart hammers in his chest, and not because Sam brought someone famous to meet him. Because Steve Rogers is exactly the kind of man Bucky finds physically attractive. Muscular. Blond. Handsome. He doesn’t know his personality yet, but holy shit would he like to. Suddenly it feels very warm in the room and a faint electric hum resonates in his ears… and his groin.

“Call me Steve,” Captain America says, as Sam draws up another chair so they can both sit down. Sam, because he really is a little shit, gives Captain America, er, Steve, the awful Geri Chair, while he takes the plastic fold-up chair. 

“Bucky,” Bucky says simply, because he’s feeling a little tongue-tied at the moment. What did you talk about with Captain America? That favorite time you saw him risk his life to make your world safer, one baddie at a time? Seriously, the man was a national icon. What was Sam thinking, bringing him here?

Fortunately, either Steve doesn’t notice the way Bucky is staring at him or is too nice to let on, and starts up the conversation for him. “Sam tells me you two met back in boot camp. I have a hard time imagining him as a newbie.” 

Sam leans back and clasps his hands behind his head. “Trust me, I was always the smooth, put-together fella you see now.”

Bucky tries to laugh, but ends up holding his ribs and groaning. “Funny, I remember you saying you wanted to lie down and die by the end of Beast Week.”

Steve tilts his head like a dog perking up its ears at an interesting sound, and it’s adorable. “Beast Week?” 

“Field training,” Sam explains briefly, and points at Bucky. “Come on, man. That was just because of the MRE’s. I was famished.” 

Steve laughs out loud, a care-free sound Bucky would like to hear every day of his life. “You were _famished?_ ”

Sam holds his hand up as if to block Steve’s words. “Uh uh. I’ve seen you put away three cheeseburgers without even breathing. Don’t wanna hear anything from your corner of the room. Besides, MRE’s, Steve! Need I say more?”

Both Bucky and Steve groan and nod in commiseration. Those portable meals barely deserved to be classified as food, in Bucky’s view.

Steve goes on. “So you both joined combat rescue units then, right?”

Bucky smiles and nods. Apparently Sam had told him a little before they got here. They talk for quite a while about all of their military service, and it allows Bucky to relax and get past his star-struck state. Once he starts to see Steve as just another military guy, it’s easier to talk without feeling like his voice will squeak out an octave higher than usual. He’s still fairly intimidated by his general hotness level, though. Damn, he’s never seen anyone as gorgeous as this man. Even though he’s able to speak without tripping over all his words, that doesn’t mean he isn’t flipping out on the inside. Not only is Steve hot, he’s also sweet and unassuming. He half expected a giant ego to go with the giant reputation, but no. Not at all. If anything, he seems a little on the reserved side.

Conversation stops when Steve’s phone buzzes in his back pocket and he takes it out to peek at the screen. Waving it in the air, he says apologetically, “I need to take this.” He hops up out of the chair to step into the hallway, holding the phone up to his ear and answering it on the way out with a chipper-sounding, “Hello.”

As soon as he’s out of the room, Bucky shoots daggers at Sam. “Captain Fucking America, and you couldn’t give me a little warning, you asshole?”

Sam feigns shock, eyes wide and mouth open. “Do you want me to tell him we need to leave?”

“No!” Bucky shoots back quickly. “He’s…you never told me he was so nice and…normal!” He leaves out the incredibly hot part, or Sam will never let him live it down.

Sam laughs out loud. “You think I risked my neck for him because he’s a fucking dick?”

Bucky chuckles back and cranes his head, trying to see out the door and if Steve’s still on the phone. It’s too much of an angle, though. “Well, no, not when you put it that way. I just…” his voice drops to a whisper, “Why did you bring him here?”

“I told you,” Sam replies, not even attempting to whisper. “You two are the best friends I have. I wanted you to meet each other. And when you’re not trapped in a hospital bed, you’re always busy.”

“Okay, fair point,” Bucky agrees, “But…” only he stops when Steve comes back into the room and re-takes his seat.

“Please tell me that wasn’t Nat calling to pick you up,” Sam says nosily, and Steve smiles. 

“No, just the Children’s hospital, checking on arrival time.”

“Are you going there to visit someone in particular, or kids in general?” Bucky inquires.

“Kids in general.” Steve beams at him, and it’s like a thousand flash bulbs went off in Bucky’s face. “One part of fame I don’t mind so much.”

“I think being famous would suck,” Bucky muses out loud, no brain-to-mouth filter at all, and Sam laughs and shakes his head. 

“And why is that?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Because,” Bucky shrugs and draws his eyebrows together. “What if you’re just in your scrubby sweatpants and a holey t-shirt, and you just want to go grab a pizza or something, but people are in your face, asking for pictures or autographs?” He looks at Steve and at Sam in turn. “Hasn’t that ever happened to either of you?”

Steve looks a little pink in the ears, but Sam cracks a big smile. “Dude,” he says, laughing, “I’m not famous!”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky razzes. “You were in the news right next to the big guy here, when all that Hydra shit went down.” 

Sam waves a hand dismissively at that, but Steve’s pink skin has migrated from the tips of his ears all the way into his cheeks; whether it’s from being called “big guy” or because he does get hounded out in public, Bucky’s not sure. 

“What kind of pizza?” he asks timidly; Bucky realizes he wants to change the subject, but doesn’t catch up with it right away.

“What?” he says, gazing at Steve interestedly.

Clearing his throat, Steve repeats himself. “What kind of pizza? Do you like?” he adds.

Bucky whimpers, just thinking about that cheesy, gooey deliciousness he’s missing. “Ohhhh, what I wouldn’t give for a nice extra cheese, extra pepperoni.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam agrees, rubbing his stomach. “With anchovies. Don’t forget the anchovies.”

“No!” Bucky shouts. “No anchovies!”

Sam is on a roll, though. “Anchovies, or better yet, pineapple! A nice jumbo slice!”

“No, no, no,” Bucky argues, “Not that jumbo shit you love so much.” 

“Oh hell yes, that jumbo shit!”

Shaking his head, Bucky grimaces dramatically. “I don’t want a slice of pizza big enough to wear around my head like a bonnet, Sam!”

It’s an old argument, one they enjoy repeating every so often. Steve looks from Sam back to him, smiling as the two bicker.

“What is wrong with you, man? It’s a local tradition.”

“Mellow Mushroom,” Bucky says firmly. He prefers their stone-baked pizzas to the greasy, sloppy, giant ones Sam likes. 

“That chain?” Sam scoffs and turns to Steve. “Back me up, here, Steve.”

Steve laughs, almost guiltily. “I like Mellow Mushroom.”

“Ugh!” 

“Yissssss!”

Bucky holds up his fist in triumph and smiles at Steve, who looks back at him. They share a silent moment, eyes locked onto each other’s, and a buzzing sound fills Bucky’s ears as they smile at each other. Steve’s eyes then drop almost shyly, shielded by lashes that are long and lush. Bucky swallows his heart back down his throat and tries not to freak out. _Don’t read anything into that_ , he thinks to himself. 

That was _not_ just a moment. They don’t even know each other. He’s not gay. _He might not even know you’re gay_. It isn’t something Bucky hides about himself, but neither does he shove it in anyone’s face. And this is Captain America he was talking about, here. Everyone knew Captain America was in love with that Peggy chick, way back in the forties. _He’s not gay._

Oblivious to Bucky’s crisis, Sam plows ahead. “Bucky is a real connoisseur of hospital food.”

Steve’s eyes lift to his again, the corners crinkling sympathetically. “Pretty bad?”

“I think sandpaper has more seasoning,” Bucky says glumly. 

Their conversation turns to food from there, and Bucky is thankful Steve didn’t ask him questions about how long he would be in the hospital, or how much pain he was in, because those were subjects he didn’t particularly want to revisit at that time. He assumes Sam gave him the basics already, at any rate. It’s much more pleasant talking about his favorite places to eat, even if it does make his stomach growl in hunger. Steve even knows some of his favorite haunts, since he lives in an apartment over in Adams Morgan, not far from Bucky’s row house in Georgetown. Sam is just east of him in Foggy Bottom, so the three of them are actually pretty close to each other. Bucky’s certain he’s never seen Steve roll up to the drive-through at the taco place near his house, though. 

When Sam declares they need to be heading out, Bucky is genuinely sorry, because he doesn’t expect to see Steve again. Sure, they’re both friends with Sam, but that doesn’t mean Captain America doesn’t have better things to do than to hang around with a nobody-metal-sculpture-artist. So when Steve offers his hand again, shakes Bucky’s firmly and says, “Till we meet again,” Bucky thinks he’s just being polite. 

“It was really good to meet you,” he says sincerely. “I’m glad Sam brought you by.”

“Me too,” replies Steve, and Bucky’s sure it’s got to be his imagination that leads him to believe Steve lingers just a moment by his bedside. 

It’s got to be, because after Sam bids him good-bye and the pair leave, Bucky’s imagination runs positively wild. He can’t stop thinking about Steve, manufacturing all kinds of scenarios in which they might meet up again, strike up a friendship (or more) and become super chummy (or more). He texts Darcy:

 _Guess who came to see me today? Captain America!_

Darcy, a dark-haired young woman who shares Bucky’s work space with him and fills the spot as person-you-wanna-hang-around-with in Bucky’s life, texts back immediately:

 _That’s great. You know who came to see me today? The Queen of England! She wants us to make her a new throne._

Bucky smirks at his phone and types in: _No, really! Sam is friends with him, remember? Turns out he’s super nice._

Darcy replies, _Are you messing with me?_

Bucky: _For real. And Darcy? He’s super hot, too._

Darcy: _No shit, Sherlock. I want details next time I come in_.

Bucky sighs happily and sets down his phone again, but is bored within minutes. It doesn’t help that he has literally nothing else to do for several hours that afternoon except for physical therapy. It’s an even more challenging session than the morning, which he welcomes, but he’s as famished as Sam when they’re done, and he’s only got meatloaf to look forward to for dinner. Ugh. 

So that evening, when the tantalizing aroma of pizza floats into his olfactory receptors, he’s sure he must be hallucinating. He’s sitting up in bed, looking down at the Words With Friends game he just started with Darcy when the delightful smell reaches him, causing him to inhale deeply. Just as he’s letting out that breath, there’s a knock on his open door. 

It’s Steve. 

Holding a pizza.

Smiling. 

“Steve!” Bucky just about yells, then controls his tone. “Come in!”

Steve steps into the room, hugging the pizza box horizontally to his stomach. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by.” He comes to a halt next to Bucky’s bed. “I brought you dinner,” he says, and Bucky feels his shyness, as if he’s worried Bucky won’t want to see him. 

“Of course it’s okay. Come sit down, please,” Bucky responds, and leans forward to take another whiff. “It smells amazing. I can’t believe the nursing staff let you pass by their station without mugging you.”

Steve grins knowingly. “I brought them a pizza, too, so yours is safe.”

Bucky’s chin drops in surprise. How thoughtful was that? He can’t decide if he’s more excited to see Steve, or the pizza. Steve sets the box down on Bucky’s tray table and turns to pull over the folding chair, giving Bucky a good look at his backside; he fills out his jeans and that shirt like they were custom-tailored to his measurements.

He quickly decides he’s more excited to see Steve. 

As his visitor drags the chair over and unfolds it, Bucky takes a look at the box cover. Mellow Mushroom! He opens it up, folding the lid underneath. God, it’s beautiful. Extra cheese and extra pepperoni. _He remembered_.

Bucky looks up. “Steve,” he says sincerely. “Thank you. This is really nice of you.”

Grinning, Steve shrugs like it’s no big deal. “No one deserves sandpaper to eat.” He motions to Bucky. “Sorry, I don’t have any plates or anything, but please, dig in.” 

Bucky’s mouth is watering already. He’ll eat with his bare hands, no problem. “Only if you do, too,” he demands, and grabs a slice, pulling it out of the box with cheese dripping down in a long, gooey string. Steve follows suit, reaching over and taking a slice. They both chow down silently for the first several bites, unless you count Bucky’s moans of happiness at how good it tasted. Personally, he didn’t count that, but he did break to pass over a napkin, as he had some extras on his tray table. 

After downing their first pieces in a hurry, they both slow down with the second and third, allowing for some conversation. Bucky asks all about the Children’s hospital visit, which Steve is happy to talk about. His face is animated as he tells Bucky about the children and their ailments, which ones squealed and which ones shyly hid their faces when they saw him; it’s clear he likes kids. Bucky is just glad for the chance to hear that smooth voice and watch him as he speaks. He offers Steve the extra cup of ice he had on hand, which he was using to re-fill his own drinking cup, so Steve can fill it up with water and have something to drink. 

They’ve pretty much polished off the entire extra large pizza by the time Steve finishes his tale, and Bucky can’t help thanking him again. 

Steve pinches his eyebrows together. “Oh, don’t think anything of it.” 

He stands and tosses the empty pizza box in the garbage. Bucky, not wanting him to leave just yet, pipes up. “Hey, could you do me a favor?” Then he laughs shortly at himself. “I mean, aside from the one you just did me by saving me from hospital meatloaf?”

Steve chuckles and sits back down. “Yeah, sure,” he replies easily.

“There’s a refreshment station down the hall. Would you mind walking with me down there so I can stock up?” He’s allowed to walk out in the hallway as long as he’s not alone. He could ask the nurse or nurse aide, but they were always so busy, and anyway he’d much rather go with Steve.

“Sure!” Steve says, sounding pretty perky, and Bucky starts to feel that warm sensation again, starting in his belly and moving upward. “What are you stocking up on?” Steve asks, pushing his own chair back out of the way and moving the tray table in turn. 

“More ice, more jello, crackers, pudding if they’ve got any. Could you grab that walker there?” Bucky points helpfully to where it sits in the corner. “Technically, I’m not allowed to go anywhere alone, but it’s okay if you’re with me.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, moving to grab the walker. “Why is that?”

“For some reason, they think I’m a fall risk,” Bucky explains, frowning. 

Steve, seeing his frown, makes his own face of consternation. “And why do they think that?”

“Mostly because I fell already,” Bucky shares in a self-deprecating way. 

He’s glad to hear Steve’s peal of laughter. _Good_. He doesn’t want him to feel sorry for him. Steve feels awful right away, though, for laughing at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny you fell. Just how you said it,” he explains as Bucky pushes himself up to standing. 

“Yeah, well, they say I’m a bad patient. I couldn’t wait for anyone, and tripped over my IV line. Boom.” He takes a few steadying breaths, getting used to being upright, and looks at Steve, hovering next to him. “You don’t have to do anything, just stay close by.”

Steve nods as Bucky steps off. It’s a slow trip. Bucky hasn’t been up in a while, so his joints feel monster stiff. It makes him wonder about something. “If you break a bone, does it still hurt like it normally would? I mean, like it would have before?” he inquires as they turn into the hallway. The refreshment station is about five rooms down.

“Yeah. It just heals faster,” Steve clarifies. 

“Huh,” Bucky remarks brilliantly. “That’s…awful.” He imagines all of the bones Steve must have broken so far as an Avenger, but that’s not a particularly happy thought, so he changes the subject right away. “What do you like to do when you’re off duty?”

Steve is keeping pace next to him, taking tiny baby steps to match Bucky’s. “Off duty?” he asks quizzically.

Didn’t Captain America ever go off duty? 

“Yeah, you know, when you’re not busy being an Avenger. What do you do in your down time?”

Bucky looks to his left; Steve is staring at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Down time?”

Halting his progress momentarily, Bucky leans on his walker and wheezes out a dry laugh. “Down time. Geez, Steve, you don’t ever take a break?” He tries again. “You got any hobbies?”

Steve shuffles his feet and is silent long enough for Bucky to assume that’s a no. Finally Steve rolls one shoulder and looks Bucky squarely in the face, like he’s evaluating him for the first time. “Most people just ask about what it was like coming out of the ice, or how it’s different living in this century.”

The walker gets pushed forward again. “Yeah, I figured that,” Bucky states. People could be such dicks, treating him like there wasn’t a real person behind the famous face. “Of course nobody would ask you what kind of movies you watch, or what you order when you go to Panera.” He angles around an IV pole that’s sitting in the hallway as Steve looks at him sideways. 

“What’s Panera?” 

Bucky’s mouth falls open, until he sees the snarky grin flash across Steve’s face. “Holy crap,” Bucky declares. “You had me there for a second.”

“Cheddar broccoli soup,” Steve says, and meets Bucky’s searching gaze and lifted eyebrows. “At Panera,” he explains. “I order cheddar broccoli soup.”

Bucky nods, smiling. “Outstanding.” Panera has kick-ass cheddar broccoli soup. They are nearing the open doorway of the refreshment station, a tiny pass-through that is meant for patients and their families when the kitchen is closed. Steve steps into the room for him and pulls open the fridge, holding the door so Bucky can see inside. 

“What can I grab for you?”

Eyes moving over the shelves rapidly, Bucky spots some red cups toward the back of the top shelf. Bingo! “Cherry jello. And there are empty water cups right above the ice machine here.” 

Steve takes out two cups of jello, bless his soul, and sets them on the counter so he can fill a regular cup with ice. As the ice machine hums, Bucky notices today there is also a bowl with assorted fruit in it. “Hey,” Bucky requests, “Could you also snag me a banana?”

He hopes he doesn’t seem greedy, but he figures Steve packs away the calories, too, so he won’t think it strange. Steve expertly stacks the jello cups on top of the water cup and holds those in one hand, and the banana in the other. 

“Okay, ready?” he twists, smiling, and it makes Bucky smile even more. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Bucky retorts, and turns his walker to head back the way they came. 

“Do you go for lots of walks like this during the day?” Steve asks curiously, and Bucky shakes his head.

“Not as much as I’d like to. Doc says if I can’t walk all the way around this floor and get up and down the stairs when they’re ready to discharge me, I’ll have to go to a rehab place before I go home.” Even though he feels Steve’s eyes on him, he can’t keep the sour expression off his face. “I don’t want to go to rehab.” It sounds like a bad Amy Winehouse joke, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice. Probably he’s never heard any Amy Winehouse songs.

“Do you have family nearby?” 

“Parents and two of my sisters live out of town. My other sister lives close by and gets here when she can, but she’s got a family to look after. And they have jobs to be at, anyway.” 

Steve falls silent for a minute, with just the rhythmic click clack sound of Bucky’s walker between them. When they reach Bucky’s door, he frowns at the big, red FALL RISK sign on it before they turn the corner and go back inside the room.

“What if…What if I were to stop by each day and take you for a walk or two? Would that help?” 

Bucky freezes in his spot, a few feet from the bed. His legs feel on the verge of collapse and there is a thumping in his chest that has nothing to do with exertion. Steve Rogers just offered to visit him in his hospital room daily? He’s sure his cheeks must be fire engine red, he’s so flustered, but he tries to play it cool. “Pretty sure you have a job to be at, too, Cap.”

He sneaks a peek at Steve’s face, and sees his cheeks are as red as Bucky’s feel. Oh, shit, did Bucky just put his foot in his mouth? He doesn’t want Steve to think he doesn’t want him to come. He wants. _Badly_. 

The blond man shrugs modestly. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. My job is…flexible, and right now, all’s quiet on the Western front.” He sets down Bucky’s bounty on his tray table, next to the dinner tray that must have come while they were out of the room, and opens his mouth again to speak. Before he has a chance to change his mind, Bucky quickly pipes up first.

“I wouldn’t mind being your hobby for a while.”

Jesus fucking criminy, what the hell kind of a thing is that to say? His cheeks are a burning inferno. “I mean,” he stumbles, searching for words, examining the floor tiles for cracks as he hoofs his way the remaining steps towards his hospital bed. “If you really wouldn’t mind. Just…just for a while. It’s really…really decent of you to offer.” 

When he lifts his eyes again, Steve’s blue eyes are twinkling, and there is a bashful smile on his face. “Well then…you could be my hobby.”


	2. I'll Be The Judge Of That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's recovery in the hospital continues. Meanwhile he has a steady stream of visitors--Sam, Darcy, his sister, and Steve. His favorite? The one who brings him dessert, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am thrilled to see I'm not the only one who likes fluffy pining and smut every once in a while. :D Thanks lovely readers!

Chapter Two 

Just like that, Steve is now Bucky’s designated walking buddy. Once Bucky hoists himself back into bed, Steve asks for his cell phone number, programs it into his phone, and texts back a smiley face so Bucky has his number, too. They decide on mid-afternoon, since Bucky typically has therapy once in the morning and once right after lunch; Steve departs with a cheery, “See you tomorrow!”

Bucky doesn’t sleep a wink that night. 

All night long, he replays the scene in his mind. Setting his attraction for Steve aside, he’s trying to figure out what the man’s motives are. Just being friendly? Sense of duty to a fellow vet? He can’t actually be _interested_ in Bucky. Can he? Then it hits him. Is Captain America _lonely_? He did seem surprised when Bucky asked him personal questions about being _Steve_ , not being _Captain America_. And most or all of the people he knew when he was younger would be dead by now. Could it be that most people he met today didn’t really bother to get to know the man behind the persona? _People really are dicks_. 

Then another thought strikes him—where would you go to meet people if you were Captain America? What’s he supposed to do, join a book club? It would be hard to walk into a bar, knowing everyone sees the Stars and Stripes. People could be so judgy. Maybe Steve doesn’t even meet new people in a social setting. He stares at the ceiling tiles above his bed. Is judgy a word? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. If Steve needs a friend, then Bucky will swallow down his raging attraction for him and try to be that friend. He can do that much for him, and has a feeling Steve is worth it, no matter the outcome. A light bulb goes off over his head—is this why Sam wanted them to meet? Carefully he rolls to his side enough to pluck up his phone from the nearby tray table. 

He texts: _Is Steve lonely?_

And then waits. A minute goes by before he gets an answering message: _You woke me up, you fucker._

Glancing at the display on his phone, Bucky reads the time. 2:34 AM. Ooops. Guess Sam was sleeping. Well, he’s awake now! Again he texts: 

_Steve. Is he lonely?_

Sam responds with: _Maybe. Now quit bugging me, I’m going back to bed._

Bucky stares at his cell phone screen. It’s wrong. Someone as brave, as selfless, as heroic as Steve Rogers, doesn’t have a long list of friends he can depend on for anything and everything? Or at the very least, to share a pizza with him? How could life be that unfair? The situation has to be rectified.

_Thanks Sam._

He sets his phone back down, tries to roll all the way onto his side, remembers that that fucking _hurts_ , and stops with a disgusted moan. He’s so damn tired of sleeping only on his back. But he closes his eyes, thinks about how great it will be to get to know Steve better, and falls into a dreamless sleep till morning. 

\--

Morning. Bucky hates mornings now. He didn’t used to, but even with crappy hospital black coffee running hot through his veins, it doesn’t lessen the brutal stiffness and pain that goes with waking up and moving around first thing. The good part is, his doctor comes in to see him and is pleased with how well he’s doing with standing and walking. Bucky thought he was doing a pretty shitty job, but what does he know? Apparently he just has a normal human being’s healing time and his body doesn’t repair itself as fast as a superhero’s does. Bummer. So his progress is acceptable—that was the good news. The bad news was that he had to wait until four in the afternoon to see Steve again. 

He decided to shave, this time getting smart and having Gina move the folding chair in front of the mirror so he could do it sitting down.

“Bucky,” she had scolded him. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be visited by Captain America!” She looked skeptical at his protestations of innocence. “I thought we were friends,” she teased. 

“We are!” Bucky insisted. “But Gina, could you do something for me?” She looked at him questioningly. “He’s coming back…could you make sure people aren’t all over him for pictures and stuff?” 

She smiled toothily. “Relax—when he brought that pizza in for us, that scored him a ton of brownie points.” 

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.

“Plus,” Gina joked, “We all already got selfies with him last night.”

After receiving a significant eye roll from Bucky, she set off for her next patient and Bucky got himself cleaned up. He put on his NASA t-shirt, thinking Steve might like it. Also it was one of the last ones left that was clean. The remaining time seems to crawl by, but at last the hour arrives and Steve shows up on the dot at four o’clock. With two Starbucks cups and a Starbucks bag in his hands. 

Bucky sucks in a gasp. “What is _that?_ ”

Smiling, Steve enters his room and sets down the bag and one cup on Bucky’s handy-dandy tray table. “I got you a decaf, since I wasn’t sure how you felt about caffeine at this time of day.” He’s wearing jeans and a powder blue water-wicking t-shirt that looks molded to his fantastic pecs and abdominals, and also brings out the electric blue nature of his eyes. Trying to control his breathing, Bucky wheezes, “What’s in the bag?”

“Blueberry scones.”

 _Blueberry scones_. Steve bought him blueberry scones. He can’t believe how fucking sweet the man is. On top of being mouth-wateringly delicious to look at.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “You didn’t have to do that.” He picks up the cup first and widens his eyes. “It’s still really hot!”

“Well, yeah,” Steve states, like that should be obvious. “Didn’t take me that long to get up here from the first floor.”

Bucky stares. Wot. “Are you telling me there’s a Starbucks inside this building that I didn’t know about?”

Steve stares back, a grin spreading across his face. “Um, yeah.” He looks contrite, like he’s sorry to be the one to break this stunning news to Bucky. “You didn’t know?”

Taking a long draw from his cup, Bucky then sets it down and closes his eyes, savoring the goodness. After a moment he opens his eyes back up and looks at his visitor, sighing deeply. “Nope. That traitor Sam never mentioned it.”

“Well, maybe he was saving that for incentive once you became more mobile.”

“Or maybe he’s an asshole.”

Steve snickers at that. “There’s also that possibility.” He points to the bag. “Do you want a scone now, or later?”

“Oh, I think we should save those until we get back,” Bucky decides. He takes another giant slurp of coffee. “This is soooooo good!” he groans. “Can you bring it with us?”

“Sure!” Steve says affably. 

Once they get up and moving out into the hallway, Bucky nods in the direction of the far end. “I’d like to get all the way down there to the lounge area.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Steve agrees, holding both their coffee cups. The trip is still aggravatingly slow, but Bucky feels like it’s less painful today. Or maybe it just feels that way when he’s distracted by the hot guy next to him. 

As they pass the nurse’s station, Andy calls out to him. “Looking good, Bucky.” Then he addresses his companion. “Nice to see you again, Steve.” 

Bucky tilts his head at Andy, who merely grins, then looks at Steve and says under his breath, “You didn’t tell me you got ambushed last night for pictures.”

Steve whispers back, “Really, it wasn’t a big deal. Don’t worry about it.” 

His eyes are gentle and sincere, but Bucky groans at the confirmation. “So you _did_ get ambushed. I thought maybe Gina was exaggerating.”

Steve laughs softly and pushes a stray wheelchair in Bucky’s path over to the other side of the hallway, still holding the coffees in his hands. “Ambush is a strong word.” He looks at Bucky’s face, seeing the concern etched into it, and shakes his head. “Really, it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“I’m sorry you are,” Bucky tells him, and lets it drop. “So, you never did tell me what you do in your free time,” he prods, periodically glancing at the man next to him as he negotiates his walker down the busy hallway. Medical staff stride busily past them, mostly paying them no mind, but out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees the occasional stares and double takes in Steve’s direction. 

Steve’s effectively blocks all of that out, like he’s had a lot of practice at it. His lips purse a little before he answers. “Outside of training and missions, there’s not all that much free time. But I used to draw a lot.” 

“Used to?”

“Yeah,” Steve looks down at the coffees in his grip. “I never really picked it back up. Kinda feels like it was part of my old life.”

Bucky stops a second to relax his hands, and Steve stops next to him. Flexing his fingers to get the blood flowing into them again, Bucky looks directly at him. “It could be part of your new life, too, if you enjoy it.”

“Maybe,” Steve says noncommittally, and falls back into step as Bucky starts moving again. “So, what do you do for a living?”

“Me?” Bucky questions. “I sculpt metal. Have my own business.” 

Steve is looking at him intently, the interest level in his eyes definitely ticking up a notch. “You don’t say. What kinds of things do you sculpt?”

They’ve reached the lounge area, where several chairs are spread out in front of large windows which provide a view of the even larger campus the hospital is situated on. Only one chair is occupied, but Bucky heads for the other grouping of chairs anyway, so as not to wake the older gentleman who is clearly taking a nap. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to share Steve with anyone else.

“Ummm…” he tries to think of everything he’s tackled so far. “Interior art like wall hangings and candle holders, plus garden sculptures, even big stuff like custom gates. My business partner is a wood-worker and we’ve done some furniture pieces together.”

Steve hands Bucky his coffee cup and takes a drink from his own. “That sounds great,” he states, actually sounding like he means it. “I’d love to see some of your work sometime.”

“Really?” That came out squeakier than Bucky intended it to, but his surprise got the better of him. “I’d love to show you, whenever I get out of here and start moving like a normal person again.”

He chugs down the coffee, letting the hot liquid bathe his throat. 

Steve tilts his head back and drains his cup, then licks his lips and asks, “Do you know when they’ll let you go?”

Bucky shakes his head, trying not to stare at those lips. “No, not yet, but I hope it’s only a few more days till I can go home.” 

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “Yeah, I hope so too.”

He’s looking at Bucky in that intense way again, blue eyes dangerously friendly and killer sexy at the same time; his words make Bucky worry he’s being too much of an imposition, despite Steve’s previous assurance otherwise.

“I promise it won’t be long,” he rushes to add. “I won’t be in your hair too much longer.”

Steve looks surprised at that, and shakes his head. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all. I just meant I know you’ll be more comfortable in your own space.” He looks down at his feet, then meets Bucky’s gaze. “Actually, I like you being in my hair. It’s nice to have a different focus.”

Bucky hopes Steve isn’t noticing how his coffee cup is shaking in his hand. Even though the comment was completely innocuous, it fuels Bucky’s fantasies big time. The image that thrusts itself into his mind is of both his hands, running through Steve’s blond hair, tugging at it, pulling his head back before he seals his mouth against those luscious, red lips and kisses them. 

_Fuck._

“Um, glutton for punishment, huh?” he jokes, and tips his cup back in his mouth to buy himself some time to get control of his thoughts. As he empties it he hears Steve’s wispy chuckle next to him. When Steve notices his empty cup, he graciously takes it from Bucky’s hand and pops up from his chair, striding over to the garbage can by the wall to throw both their cups away. 

Bucky pushes himself up to stand so he’s ready to go when Steve rejoins him, and they head back down the hall. On the trip back, he plies Steve with all kinds of questions about drawing…what medium he preferred, what kinds of things he drew, whether he had ever tried painting. Steve answers his questions readily and appears genuinely pleased and willing to talk about himself, as long as he gets some questions in about Bucky’s work, too. 

Their conversation continues once back in Bucky’s room, and they dig into the scones. Bucky, of course, insists Steve have one, too. They talk for a long time, and eat several of the delicious treats. Steve had a lot more packed into that bag than Bucky suspected. By the time they finish, they’ve just about wrapped up their art discussion for the day. And also by the time they finish, Bucky is completely infatuated. Steve is thoughtful, and kind, and his very presence next to Bucky raises his heart rate to unsafe levels. Steve promises to return same time the next day, and heads out the door with a wave. 

Bucky…wants to believe so much more than what he should believe. In his mind, Steve feels every bit of attraction between them that Bucky does. In his mind, the friendship they’re building is only a prelude to something much more lasting, much more intimate. In his mind, Steve could be his _soulmate_. 

How stupid is that? For one thing, they just met. For another thing, he’s Captain Fucking America, totally and completely out of Bucky’s league. And for another thing on top of the other things, he might not even be interested. How did he get himself into this mess? And how can he even pretend all he wants is to be friends, when surely Steve can see the longing written all over his face? He feels a little overwhelmed. 

Fortunately, Darcy is going to pay him a visit that evening, and she always gives great advice. He had filled her in about Steve coming back for babysitting duty via text already. She flounces into the room just as Bucky is finishing up his dinner, and falls into the Geri Chair. 

“I’m here”!” She announces animatedly.

“And only forty minutes after you said you’d arrive,” Bucky teases.

“I _KNOW_ , right? I made great time getting over here,” she offers as her rebuttal, and Bucky’s blue eyes roll to the back of his head. He loves Darcy, but the woman doesn’t know what the word punctual means.

Her dark eyes beseech him for more information. “Sooooooo, tell me all about Mr. Biceps. Is he everything my dreams are made of?” She pops a pink bubble between her full lips.

“You believe me now?” Bucky asks, tilting his head down toward her.

“I do… now.” She smiles slyly. “But I didn’t until I googled fan pics with him, and a bunch popped up on Instagram that were clearly taken in the visitor area at the end of that hallway.” She points outside Bucky’s room. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Bucky says, slightly distastefully, and sets his fork down on his plate. He still doesn’t like the fact that Steve was accosted like that. He sort of feels like it’s his fault, because Steve came here to see him. 

Darcy sits forward in her chair. “Anyway, come on, spill. What’s he like?”

“He’s amazing!” Bucky gushes. “He’s so nice, and not a jerk at all even though he’s famous and has killed lots of aliens. And he’s _gorgeous_ , Darcy. God, he’s so fucking gorgeous, I can’t even explain it.”

Wrapping a section of her long, dark hair around her finger, she snaps her gum again and jokes, “Try.”

Bucky rubs a hand across his face. “I think I have a crush on him.”

“Everyone on the planet has a crush on him, sweetheart.”

“No,” he protests. “Not like, your Hollywood hall pass crush…” 

“Which he is a perfect candidate for, I might add,” she interrupts, pointing a finger at him.

“I mean a _real_ crush. Like, a serious one!”

“Okay,” she says, unfazed. “So you’ve got a crush on him, so what?” She sits back and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Wait, is he even gay?”

Bucky feels his face fall. “No. I don’t know. I didn’t exactly ask him, you know? What if I make a fool of myself?” 

“We are all fools in love,” Darcy quotes, then makes a perplexed face. “What’s that from?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” Bucky responds absentmindedly, setting the lid to his dinner plate back down on top of it and pushing it away. “So what should I do?”

The toes of her flats tip-tap on the tile floor in front of her. “Whaddya mean, what should you do? You’ve already got a tailor-made excuse to see him again. Just talk to him!”

Bucky throws his head back against his pillows. “Just talk to him? That’s your great advice?”

Darcy laughs. “What do you want me to say, throw him into the supply closet on your way past it and nail him against the wall?” She leans in and takes his hand. “Why is this even a question? If this was any other guy, wouldn’t you already know what to do?”

Bucky mashes his lips together, eyebrows pinched. Would he? Yeah, probably, but this isn’t any other guy. “Why would he even waste time on me?”

Darcy’s voice hardens. “Whoa. Now you listen here. He is not _wasting time_ on you. He came to see you because he wanted to. The fact that he’s famous means nothing. Even famous guys want real relationships.” 

Bucky’s face remains a picture of pure skepticism, so she adds, “You just need to figure out what kind of relationship he wants, whether it’s friends, or something more.”

“What if I want something more, and he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s the fool.” She pats his hand, takes her gum out of her mouth and sticks it into an empty jello cup on his tray table. “And you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

\--

Bucky does feel heartened by Darcy’s words, plus he manages to beat her in two consecutive Words With Friends games, so that makes him feel a lot better about his chances. He’s not usually an insecure person; after all, he’s a moderately attractive guy with a steady job, his own house, and no criminal record. That’s doing pretty well for himself, right? But he’s never had to impress _Captain America_ before. Steve. And he’s never _wanted_ anyone this badly after only a couple of meetings. 

As he forks down a cheese omelet for breakfast that’s pretty decently made, he thinks about it. Steve has already found a way into his head. How long will it be until he finds a way into his heart, too? Bucky wants to be cautious here, not put the cart before the horse, and not set impossibly high expectations that would certainly never be met. His main focus is still to be a friend to Steve. If that should at some point start including kissing, fondling, and sex, he won’t complain. 

Finishing the omelet, he starts munching on a bowl of Frosted Flakes, and indulges himself in a lovely fantasy about being Steve’s boyfriend. As he crunches, he thinks about dumb, everyday stuff, like going for a walk and holding his hand, or sitting all piled up on top of each other on a couch while watching a movie on the TV, or making dinner together and then playing footsie under the table. Pretty domestic in substance, but that’s kind of Bucky’s groove. He really hopes it’s Steve’s groove, too. 

After that pleasant session of daydreaming, a cold dose of reality slaps him in the face. During PT that day, they go to the next level and start doing standing exercises like marches and squats and kicks, and Bucky’s fairly certain he’s going to die. How can such basic movements tire him out so much? And _hurt_ so much? He grits his teeth and bears it, thinking _fuck this shit_ the entire time, because he knows it’s the only way to build up his endurance again. The PTA treating him stresses how well he’s doing and instructs him he can start doing the same exercises on his own, too, as long as someone is in the room with him. 

Mentally he makes a note to call his sister and have her pick up some Biofreeze or Tiger Balm, because he knows his muscles are going to be hurting tonight. This recovery bullshit sucked. How could doing heel raises make him break a sweat? Okay, eyes on the prize, though, Barnes, he tells himself. You _are_ getting stronger. A few short days ago he couldn’t cough without wincing in pain. Now…well, it still made him wince, but his face didn’t do that crazy thing where it looked like he was passing a kidney stone. Baby steps, right?

Later that afternoon, after taking a giant nap post therapy session number two, he’s flipping through TV channels and wondering how people could watch daytime television without going completely insane, when Gina pokes her head into his room. She heralds the imminent arrival of a guest by waving at Bucky and using a stage whisper through two hands held together like a megaphone.

“Dreamboat alert.” 

_Your dreamboat? Or mine?_ Bucky thinks, but then she’s gone before he even has a chance to respond, and Steve appears in his doorway. Once again, he’s holding two coffee cups and a Starbucks bag. Only this time, he gives the bag a shake before setting it down on Bucky’s tray and announces, “Chocolate croissants.”

“ _Ohmigod_ ,” Bucky mouths and puts his hands on his cheeks. “Steve,” he says out loud, “You shouldn’t have.” He peeks inside the bag and inhales. “Oooooooooooh!”

The smile that spreads across Steve’s face is as dreamy as any dreamboat’s could hope to be. “But I want to,” Steve protests. “How are you feeling today?”

“They’re torturing me,” Bucky moans as he rolls up the top of the bag, paper crinkling loudly. “These therapists are sadists, I swear.” 

Pushing away the tray table and hauling over Bucky’s walker like it’s an established routine already, Steve clucks sympathetically at him. “Pretty painful, huh?”

“Only if you have nerve endings,” Bucky jokes grimly, and brings his feet down to the floor so he can shove them into his shoes. He’s not going for any more walks with those ugly, blue non-slip socks on, especially when Steve is with him. As if it weren’t emasculating enough to be stuck in a hospital bed and using a walker to get around. 

“But you are getting better,” Steve says encouragingly. “Even yesterday you had trouble scooting to the edge of the bed, and today you slid right over.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Bucky agrees. 

He didn’t even realize it, but Steve’s right. It was less painful today. The super soldier must be pretty observant to notice a small detail like that; Bucky guesses he’d have to be very aware of his surroundings at all times in his line of work, so it’s not unusual for him to spot that.

Once they get going, he informs Steve he wants to go even further today…down the hallway, that is. Then he starts quizzing him on his favorite places to run in DC. Jogging is something Bucky plans to get back to when he can, so he’s eager to pick Steve’s brain. Maybe he can accidentally-on-purpose run into him regularly. Plus, it seems like a safe topic of conversation. Meaning, Bucky can’t make himself look stupid in front of the most perfect human being he’s ever met. 

As it turns out, while Bucky prefers the C & O Canal or Rock Creek Park for the winding trails they feature, Steve logs a lot of mileage at the National Mall, where he met Sam. He also runs the Watergate steps and goes down Embassy Row every once in a while.

“But I really prefer the Mall,” Steve declares, scratching his head thoughtfully with his free hand. He’d already finished his coffee, but he brought Bucky’s cup for him. “I guess I just really like going past all those monuments. There’s so much history there.”

“I’ll give you that,” Bucky agrees, doing his best to keep up a steady pace and not wimp out before they reach his goal. He’s getting sore and tired, but doesn’t want to sit down at the lounge area like he had to do yesterday. “It looks really great when it’s lit up at night, too.” He eyes the chairs at the end of the hall but doesn’t make for them. “But those _steps_? Holy crap! I suppose you do them wearing full body armor and carrying Sam on your back, too.”

Steve tips his head back and laughs. That may be Bucky’s favorite expression of his, because he looks so uninhibited. It’s not the serious face Bucky sees on the news when Captain America is kicking ass, although that’s captivating in its own way. As they pass the chairs and Bucky glances in that direction again, Steve follows his sight line and asks if he needs to rest. 

“No,” Bucky insists, “Let’s keep going.” He’d like to sit down, but doesn’t want to sit down. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees. The end of the hallway isn’t really the end, it’s just a fork in the road, so they turn past the lounge and keep going. The entire floor is a giant loop, and eventually Bucky wants to be able to traverse the entire thing. But not today. Today he’ll be lucky to make it to the next nurse’s station before they have to turn back. Steve picks up their conversation where they left off. “I like to run early in the morning the most, not at night.”

“Less crowded?” 

Steve nods. “Yeah, there’s that, but it’s really because I like the sunrise.” He glances at Bucky. “Is that corny?”

Chuckling, Bucky shakes his head at the same time he teases, “It’s totally corny, Steve. Oh my God, _so_ corny. Who likes _sunrises_?” He’s smiling and Steve is smiling, looking down at the floor, those long, beautiful lashes doing funny things to Bucky’s stomach. 

“Alright then,” Steve comes back with. “See if I answer any more of your questions, Buck.” He looks up again and his eyes are crinkled up at the edges as he grins. It’s magical. And he said _Buck_. 

He’s comfortable enough to do that with Bucky already. It’s _phenomenal._ All of a sudden it’s hard to breathe, and Bucky’s skin is prickling everywhere, but the sarcastic side of him can’t be contained. He puts on his pouty face. “But my questions are the _best_. I’ll bet no one has ever asked you questions this good before.” He pauses and looks behind him at the distance he’s gone. “Let’s turn around here.”

As he turns his walker around to go back, Steve stays in the middle of the hall, letting Bucky stay close to the wall so nobody walking past will accidentally bump him. He’s smiling when he replies, “Maybe it’s my turn to ask the questions now.”

“Do your worst,” Bucky challenges him. What will Steve ask him? If he’s single? Who he likes to date? How long it will be before they can move in together?

“Okay, uhh…where is your studio?”

 _Oh._ Work questions. Well, gotta start somewhere. 

“My partner has a place in Georgetown. I share space with her.”

“Partner?” Steve’s voice holds merely curiosity, but Bucky feels himself flush anyway. 

“Darcy. She’s my business partner.”

“Oh. Business partner.” He sounds like he’s rolling those words around on his tongue, trying them out. 

Bucky wonders if Steve sees the other Avengers as business partners, or more like a military squad. Probably like a military squad. But it makes him chuckle on the inside to think of Black Widow with a steno pad and glasses, taking notes during a briefing. 

“So how long have you been interested in metal sculpting?” 

“I picked it up really by accident. I had no clue what to do with myself when I was getting out of the service. Darcy needed help with a furniture piece she was doing, and I knew how to weld. It sort of snowballed from there.”

“You only started when you got discharged from the Air Force?” 

They’ve reached the lounge area again, and this time Bucky makes a beeline for one of the chairs. He drops into the closest one and his companion takes the one next to it, then hands him his coffee. 

Bucky takes it and nods. “I messed around with it a little before I joined up, but only as a hobby.”

Steve is looking at him quite thoughtfully, and it makes Bucky wonder again if he has any kind of life of his own outside of his service to the country. It breaks his heart a little, thinking that Steve has given everything, all of himself, to his country without any complaint. Bucky has seen war. And loss. He downs more coffee. Steve deserves to have something in his life outside of that. An idea pops into his head, and before he can second guess himself, he spits it out.

“You know what I’d like to do when I get out of here, Steve?” He turns back to him and inclines his head in his direction. 

Steve is looking at him earnestly. “No, what? Maybe I can help.”

Grinning, Bucky nods. “Oh, I know you can. Because what I want is for you to show me someplace you like to go when you’re not on duty. Someplace that has nothing to do with the government, or the Army, or the Avengers.” He gives Steve another cheeky grin. “Think you can do that?”

Steve smiles back bashfully. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Pleased, Bucky finishes off his coffee and stands, newly energized. He’s got a fucking _date_ lined up with Steve after his discharge. Okay, sure, it’s a friend date, but a date nonetheless! Steve launches himself out of his chair so he can pitch the empty cup while Bucky gets moving. Steve gets in a few more questions about how long Bucky has lived in DC and how he likes it. It sounds to Bucky like maybe Steve misses New York, from the wistful way he mentions it. 

“Would you ever move back to Brooklyn?” 

Steve’s forehead wrinkles up as he thinks it over. “Maybe, if circumstances were right.” 

He falls silent after that somewhat cryptic response and Bucky really wants to know more, but fatigue is starting to mount and affect his interviewing skills. His legs are tired and his pelvis and ribs hurt, and he wants very badly to lie down—but he’s still about four rooms down from his own. At this point, Steve sees his struggle and puts a calming hand on the upper part of his back. 

“You need to sit? We just passed a wheelchair.” 

The concern in his eyes is real, and Bucky didn’t realize until this minute that he’s breathing pretty hard and his legs are wobbly. But he grips his walker tightly and shakes his head. 

“No, I can make it,” he insists stubbornly. 

Steve nods, but his hand stays put on Bucky’s back for the duration of the trip back to his room. And even though Bucky values his independence and doesn’t like to feel weak, he has to admit he likes it. Steve’s touch is warm and comforting, and gives him the encouragement he needs to finish the walk back. Once he reaches the bed, he sits and kicks off his shoes, then pulls his legs into the bed one at a time. The pressure of sitting up is a lot to take and he squirms a little, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. 

Immediately Steve asks, “Do you need to lie down?” 

Bucky nods, but before he can even reach for the control pad that adjusts the bed, Steve already has a thumb on the button to lower the head down. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief as he is lowered down flat.

“Better?” 

There’s no pity in Steve’s voice; it seems borne of understanding instead. Bucky turns his head to see that sympathetic face looking back at him.

“Much better.”

Steve nods. “You need to rest. Maybe I should take off.”

“No, don’t!” Bucky protests right away. “What about croissants?” 

Steve laughs and lays a hand on the bed rail, close to Bucky’s shoulder. “You can save the croissants for later if you want.”

Bucky feels his eyelids drooping, but doesn’t want Steve to leave. “I just need a minute to recover, that’s all,” he insists. 

“You want me to stay?”

“I want you to stay,” Bucky says, not realizing he already sounds drowsy, and he’s not fooling Steve at all by pretending he’s fully awake. But the muscled blond drops down into the chair next to Bucky’s bed anyway.

“Tell me what kind of music you listen to,” Bucky inquires dreamily. For once, his bed feels pretty good, soft and welcoming underneath him, and Steve’s voice is soothing as he starts off naming some bands Bucky has never even heard of…seriously, Steve, what are you listening to?

…and that’s all Bucky heard or thought. He wakes with a start sometime later on, mouth open, head turned to the side so he’s drooling a little on his pillow. Wiping his chin, he looks around his room blearily. Man, he was out cold. Guess that walk took more out of him than he thought. Steve is gone, but written on the side of the Panera bag is a message from him, written in neat block letters:

_Didn’t want to wake you. See you tomorrow, same time?_

Then down below, in slightly smaller block letters: _p.s. I took a croissant._

Bucky smiles and digs into his croissants. 

After he finishes his second one he decides to text Steve, since he didn’t get to say good-bye. 

He types in: _Thanks for leaving the croissants. They’re delicious. Sorry I zonked out._

The message back reads: _Did you have a good nap?_

Bucky responds: _Woke up with drool on my face, so I guess that’s a yes._

Steve sends: _Wish I had seen that._

The idea of waking up with Steve has its own merits, of course, even if that wasn’t his intended meaning, and that puts a gigantic smile on Bucky’s face.

He taps out on his phone: _No you don’t. I’m an ugly drooler._

Steve’s response surprises him and makes him smile uncontrollably at the same time, even though he knows the super soldier’s thoughts are more pure than his own.

_I’ll be the judge of that._

It takes a minute of thinking (and swallowing down the lust that rises up) to come up with a suitable, non-erotic reply. 

Finally he sends: _I will not be held responsible for any emotional scarring that is incurred._

Steve’s next message reads: _LOL! OK, see you tomorrow?_

Steve knows what LOL means! Bucky sends back: _Yeah. Have a good night._

Last text: _You too._

Bucky tries to imagine what Steve is doing that evening, and fails. The man still hasn’t really shared how he spends his time. It’s not that he’s secretive, he just always seem to turn questions around and get more information out of Bucky than Bucky gets out of him. Going to have to step up his game. 

\--

Later that evening, Bucky’s sister, Becca, comes and spends a couple of hours with him, finding him sitting up in the awful Geri Chair. She brings a tube of Bengay cream, because the drug store was apparently out of everything that didn’t smell like old people, and she takes his dirty laundry with her when she goes. In the middle of that, they watch TV and chit chat. 

Becca’s advice on what to do about Steve is annoyingly similar to Darcy’s. “Just be yourself,” she had said. 

Just be yourself? What kind of bullshit advice was that? Bucky had groaned at her and pulled a face, and she laughed at him like only a sister would. 

At least she brought the Bengay. 

He rubs some into his leg muscles right away, because after he sat up in the chair and ate dinner, they were already stiffening up something fierce. The next morning, he repeats the routine. The night was rough, but he’s not letting that discourage him. He’s got _goals_. Yesterday afternoon he went up and down the three steps in the PT gym, so he wants to try the whole staircase when Steve visits today. His townhouse has two stories and he needs to be able to get up and down daily. 

Before even his morning PT session starts, Sam surprises him by stopping by on his way to work, which is not really on his way—it’s the opposite direction, so Bucky appreciates the effort. 

“Sam!” he says delightedly, when his friend strolls in. 

He’s holding—get ready for it—two Starbucks cups in his hands. Bucky pounces. 

“How could you not tell me there’s a Starbucks in here, you loser?”

Sam lets out an undignified snort, crossed with a giggle. “You think I wanna be responsible for bringing you fucking Starbucks every time I come in here? Shit’s expensive, man.” He takes a giant gulp from his cup and sets it down on Bucky’s tray table.

Bucky grumbles, “ _Steve_ doesn’t mind,” as Sam hands him his coffee and sits down in the Geri Chair. 

“Oh, _Steve doesn’t mind,_ ” he mocks. “Why don’t you marry him, then?”

When Bucky is uncharacteristically silent and Sam catches him with a thoughtful look on his face, a look of new understanding dawns on his. 

“Wait, are you…are you _attracted_ to Steve?”

Laughing, Bucky can’t help responding with, “That is the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said, Wilson.” Sam starts making various noises of disbelief as Bucky goes on. “Have you even _looked_ at him? _Talked_ to him? Been in the same _room_ with him?”

Acquiescing, Sam holds up both hands in dramatic fashion. “Alright, alright, I _get_ it! He’s _attractive_!” His hands fall and his head shakes. “Come on, I’m a straight dude, I don’t think about crap like that.”

Bucky has to ask. “Sam, is he…is he straight, too? You gotta tell me, no matter what.”

This time it’s Sam’s turn to look thoughtful. “Bucky, I actually can’t say for sure. Truth,” he tacks on, when Bucky gives him a dubious stare. “I know Natasha is always trying to fix him up with different girls, and he never goes for it. But why he doesn’t…that I don’t know.”

Trying not to let his face show his disappointment, Bucky swigs down his coffee. It’s not that he really expected Sam to know, given Steve’s natural reticence, but it would have been nice if he’d said, “God no, he’s raging gay!”

Instead, Sam watches his face and observes, “So you like him then?”

“Yeah.” That thought makes Bucky smile. “I do like him. I just don’t know how much I should like him.”

“Well, I can’t really help…” Sam’s nose wrinkles up and he takes a deep breath. “What the hell is that _smell_?”

He leans over Bucky’s bed and inhales again. “Dude.” He looks at Bucky. “Is that you? You smell like Clint Barton after training.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “But is it sexy?”

Falling back into his chair, Sam guffaws loudly. “It’s the exact opposite of sexy.”

Maybe the Bengay will have to come off before Steve gets there later that day. 

\--

When Steve arrives that afternoon, with more Starbucks in hand again (salted caramel squares—does he have great taste in desserts, or what? It’s a highly attractive quality in a man), Bucky is determined to figure out how Steve spends his days. They are up and in the hallway, working their way down to the stairwell when Bucky asks, “So, tell me what your day was like.”

Steve, wearing jeans that barely contain his massive thighs and a short-sleeved plaid button down shirt that does nothing to hide his massive pecs, shrugs easily next to him. “Went for a run this morning, then had training for a few hours, then briefings for a couple of hours to go over threat levels.” He turns to look at Bucky. “Pretty typical day.”

Now they were getting to it. “Who did you train with?” 

They stop for a moment, as the hall is crowded and another patient is making his way past them with his own walker, traveling in the other direction. 

“Today it was Natasha, Clint, and Maria.”

Bucky steps off again, Steve keeping pace next to him. “Maria?” he asks uncertainly.

“She worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.” Steve offers helpfully. 

“Oh.” Bucky glances at Steve. “This isn’t, like, super classified information, is it?”

Steve laughs. “No. I don’t have to kill you.” 

Bucky likes it that his smile touches his eyes, and also that he was the one to put it there in the first place. He’s so distracted watching Steve that he trips over his own foot and stumbles a little. In a flash, Steve’s hand shoots out and lands on Bucky’s walker to steady him. More specifically, his hand lands on top of Bucky’s hand on his walker. His grip is strong but not painful, covering Bucky’s hand completely, and the warmth that flows from that contact into Bucky’s body is heavenly. This skin to skin stuff is pretty remarkable. Too bad he can’t think of a way to get more of it.

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbles, only slightly embarrassed, getting his feet situated underneath him once more.

Once Steve sees he has recovered his balance on his own, he removes his hand and nods once, and they are on the move again. Bucky’s not done with his questions yet, either, and presses on.

“Do you train with different people, depending on the day?”

“Yeah, it does vary a little. Everyone’s in on the briefings, either in person or virtually. Tony does that a lot from New York.” 

They’ve made it to the door at the stairwell and Steve pushes it open, holding it in place while Bucky passes through. The stairwell is depressingly grey concrete, somewhat narrow with a metal rail on one side. It’s well lit, but very plain.

“Tony,” Bucky repeats, and there’s a little echo in the stairwell. _Stark._ “Tony doesn’t train with you here much?”

There is a snort from Steve. “The only thing Tony trains in regularly is snark.”

That brings up a loud peal of laughter from Bucky. Everyone knew Stark’s reputation for sarcasm. “That was funny, Steve,” he says, smiling at him.

Steve just lifts one huge shoulder. “It’s been known to happen.” He looks up the empty staircase and back to Bucky. “You ready for this?”

“Yeah.” Bucky frowns once in concentration. Stairclimbing is a pain in the ass. Literally. They leave the walker at the bottom of the stairs, and Bucky hugs the left side, the one with the rail. Steve stays on his other side. _Up with the good leg._ His fracture is on the left side of his pelvis, so he leads with his right leg and takes the first step, then brings the left leg up to the same step. Pain sears across his midsection, but he’s not stopping. _Fuck this shit._ It’s slow going, but he can do it. He looks upward. Only about 15 more steps to go.

Another ten steps up, and Bucky thinks this is the worst fucking idea he’s ever had in his whole life. _Fuck this fucking shit. I hate stairs._ His pelvis feels like it’s on fire, and he’s pretty sure a trickle of sweat just ran down his temple. And he just realized, he’s got to go back _down_. 

“Who’s terrible idea was this, anyway?” he utters grumpily.

“Pretty sure it was Sam’s,” Steve jokes, and does get a pained chuckle from his charge. 

Steve has been keeping up a steady stream of encouragement the whole way up, but he now recognizes Bucky is kind of stuck there.

“Tell me what you need,” he says calmly, but Bucky’s not sure what the answer to that question is. 

He starts to turn around, putting his back to Steve so he can hold the rail with both hands, and of course at that moment, his right leg seizes up, halting his progress in a hurry. He lets out an agonized grunt and tries to put all his weight on the left leg. 

“Cramp?” Steve’s voice behind him is concern mixed with sympathy. 

Bucky nods silently, trying not to cry out. He grits his teeth. Damnit, his hamstring is squeezing like a vise. He’s trying to wait for it to pass, but standing on his left leg only is just as painful, and his limb starts to shake. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, and his hands are on Bucky’s waist, slowly pulling him back, back against Steve’s own body. “Lean on me, it’ll take the pressure off your left leg some.” 

Bucky lets himself be maneuvered into place, so his back is snug against Steve’s chest. Steve’s body is so solid, so strong behind him that he finds himself relaxing, letting his weight sink into his chest. Steve holds him up, seemingly without any effort at all, keeping Bucky close and secure in their precarious position on the stairs. Totally inappropriate timing, but God, it’s such a turn on. Bucky knows his breathing is erratic and hopes the cramping will help explain that. He knew Steve was a big guy, but that _bulk_! Bucky’s a fairly big guy, too, and it feels like Steve could manhandle him all he wanted, no trouble at all. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, but one Bucky likes. A lot. 

Thankfully, the other physical problems he’s got going on right now mean he doesn’t have to worry about popping a boner. Trying to hide that while wearing sweatpants would be fun, especially since Steve seems to notice _everything_. But those other physical problems don’t stop Bucky from noticing and enjoying everything else about this situation, like how good Steve’s hands feel at his waist, touching him but not in an invasive way. Or Steve’s even breathing behind him, his chest rising and falling against Bucky’s back.

Steve’s mouth is right behind his ear when he asks, “Getting better?”

Nodding, Bucky finally releases his death grip on the rail. It is getting better. He can almost put all his weight back down on his right leg again. He sort of almost doesn’t want to, but he figures they can’t cuddle on the steps all day long. 

“Okay,” he turns his head partially in Steve’s direction. God, he’s so _close_. His lips are almost within kissing distance, and it makes Bucky feel really hot all over. The air in the stairwell has grown stuffy. “I think I’m ready.” _Ready for you to kiss the stuffing out of me._

There’s no kiss, but Steve is so gentle the way he centers Bucky back on his feet again, slowly pushing him back into an erect standing position. He waits patiently for Bucky to turn fully and prepare for the trip back down the steps.

_Oh Steve. You are a wonder._

And then things get _really_ good.

Steve decides to get in front of him on the stairs, facing him and staying just below in case Bucky should lose his balance or cramp up again. 

“I’ll block you. Promise, I won’t let you fall,” he says kindheartedly, and how he can say it without a trace of pity or condescension in his voice, Bucky doesn’t know. 

He also doesn’t know how he makes it back down all of those steps again when all he can concentrate on is Steve’s gorgeous face and gorgeous body, directly in front of him like that. He’s already looking down, and can take in all of that splendor without even feeling like he’s ogling him. It makes the torturous journey back down much more bearable. One step at a time. _Down with the bad leg._

What he does know is that he’s going to burn in hell for even considering for one second falling from the last step, right into Steve’s embrace, just so he legit has a reason to hug him. _Yep. Straight to hell for thinking that one_. 

He doesn’t fall, and he makes it to the landing safe and sound, legs quivering like jello. Steve looks at him and quips, “Wanna go again?”


	3. Peanut Butter And Jelly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets discharged from the hospital, and manages to get some more Steve-time too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is split into two sections--one in Bucky's POV and then in Steve's POV. I couldn't resist, after Jay and ColorCoated got me thinking about it! So this is all their fault, not mine. :-)
> 
> I meant to get this chapter done by Valentine's, but then the Olympics happened! And figure skating is on, so that plan went right out the window. :-) Anyway, here's chapter three. One more to go.

Chapter Three

Bucky

After what Bucky surmises is a not-so-stellar performance on the stairs, he’s feeling both really bad…and really good. The really bad part was that he couldn’t even make it up the entire staircase. The effort took a lot more out of him than he had expected. What would he have done if Steve wasn’t there? Try to sit down on the steps? God, what if he’d fallen? He’s not accustomed to feeling so incapable, so helpless. It makes his mouth feel tight around the edges and a scowl deepen across his face. 

Steve tried to make out like Bucky had done well, managing to ascend _most_ of the way up the long flight, but Bucky wasn’t buying it. Most of the way isn’t _all_ the way, buddy. Then Steve had asked him why he was being so hard on himself, since A) it was his first try, and B) surely his staircase at home wasn’t a whole fifteen steps long anyway.

“No, it’s not fifteen steps,” Bucky had grumped, but still felt inadequate somehow. “It’s just a flight of steps! One flight, and I couldn’t make it!”

“You’ve also got three broken bones that need time to heal,” Steve pointed out.

“But it’s taking so _long_ ,” Bucky had whined, knowing he was being unreasonable and not caring. 

Steve snorted a little. “Are you always like this?” 

Bucky had looked sideways at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve stopped in the middle of the hall on their way back to Bucky’s room. “Being such a perfectionist. It’s not healthy, you know.”

He was smirking, and Bucky felt indignant enough to try and maintain his scowl. Hello, _Captain America_ isn’t a perfectionist? Eventually he failed to fight back his grin as he stood next to Steve and leaned on his walker. “Takes one to know one.”

With a tip of his head and a short chuckle, Steve admitted, “I’d argue with that …except I can’t,” and they finished the walk back. 

Despite that feeling bad part, there was also the really good part; how Steve made him feel on the stairs both emotionally and physically. It’s hard enough recovering from an injury without having to deal with people’s pity. Steve hasn’t crossed into that territory a single time yet. Maybe he has enough experience being injured that he knows what it’s like. Maybe he’s just really empathetic. Maybe he’s just an exemplary example of a human being. 

And when he pulled Bucky’s body to his, supporting his weight when he needed a hand (or a body) and making him feel so safe, so protected? Quite honestly, it was arousing as fuck. That was definitely the best part. If anyone had asked Bucky a few days ago if he had a thing for being taken care of, he would have said no. But now? He’s not so sure. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it, either. The sensation of Steve’s hard body, taking his weight, and all those muscles, coiled tight and ready to spring the second Bucky needed help—it was divine. 

He can’t stop thinking about it as they make their way back to his room. Or when they are enjoying their salted caramel squares. Or when Bucky goes to bed that night. Especially that night. He can still feel Steve’s heat against his back, his fingers and palms cupping his waist so gently. He even has dreams about Steve, and for the first time since the accident, wakes up with a stiffy. It’s inconvenient, but he supposes it’s good to know everything is still working correctly down there. He can’t do anything about it, though, not there in bed, what with hospital staff coming in and out of his room all of the time unexpectedly. 

Instead he just waits it out. Thinking about the hospital food he’s got coming for breakfast helps take care of that problem. After he has breakfast and gets ready for the day, his sister stops by with clean clothes for him. He’s glad he’s got clean stuff, but he does NOT want to still be in the hospital when he runs out again. The threat of that really makes him work hard during PT; they walk all the way around the floor of the hospital for the first time. So now Bucky has gone the distance he wanted to, and been up and down the stairs. He sees no reason he should have to go to a stupid rehab place, and says so when his doctor comes in to check on him that day. To his surprise and delight, the doctor _agrees._

“So when can I get out of here then?” Bucky questions eagerly.

“Tomorrow,” his doc replied, and Bucky could’ve kissed him. Tomorrow! His own bed! His own food! His own….wait, how’s he going to get food? 

“Am I allowed to drive?”

Of course the answer is no. Bucky’s going to have to find a driver for a few weeks. Darcy or his sister won’t mind running him to the grocery store every once in a while, though. And there’s always delivery, if he doesn’t want to cook. Not a problem.

What is a problem? _Steve._ He doesn’t want to stop seeing Steve. Luckily, he does have that trip lined up for the super soldier to take him somewhere he likes to go, but that’s just one time. Then what’s going to happen? He’s still trying to figure that out when Steve arrives for their daily walk. Technically, since Bucky’s discharge is already planned, he could have called it off that afternoon, but what would be the fucking point there? Why miss out on a perfectly good opportunity to see the blond beefcake one more time before he goes home?

Steve arrives, looking hotter than the sun in a worn-looking Army green t-shirt that must have shrunk from being washed too many times. It hugs the defined curves of his chest and arms in a way that makes Bucky’s mouth water just looking at it. He hardly notices the now-routine Starbucks coffee cups and bag of goodies, but his nurse, Andy, is in the room too and asks about it. 

“Hey Steve, nice to see you. Are you bringing contraband in here again?”

He’s eyeballing the bag, and Steve shrinks back away from him with a look on his face that says he’s not sure if Andy’s serious or not, and he’s worried his Starbucks bag might be confiscated. But Andy and Bucky both chuckle and give it away.

“Oh. Whew!” Steve says, realizing the joke. He sets the bag down on the tray table. “Hi Andy. Do you need me to step out of the room for a minute?”

“Nah,” Andy replies, waving a hand at him. “Just finishing up some discharge planning.”

Steve gives Bucky a giant smile and pats his shin, that being the body part that’s closest to him from that end of the bed. As far as Bucky was concerned, that hand could have stayed on his shin. Or moved north. He’s not picky. 

“When is the big day?” 

“Tomorrow!” Bucky sings, all smiles. 

“If we get everything in place,” Andy cautions. “PT gave you your home exercises to do?”

“Yep,” Bucky confirms, as Steve slides behind the nurse and sits down in the Geri Chair. 

“The doctor has written outpatient PT orders for you as well. He wants you to start right away.”

Oh. Bucky’s celebration stalls. “You mean I have to be driven to a clinic then, right?” Andy nods and Bucky goes on. “How often will I have to do that?”

Andy scratches his head with one hand. “Probably three times a week, at least for a while.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Bucky thinks about that. Too much for Becca. Darcy could do it, since their work schedule is flexible, but…

“You got someone who can drive you?” Andy asks, pen hovering over the folder he was jotting things down in.

Bucky _really_ wants to ask Steve, as it would give him a regular source of Steve-time in his life, but recognizes that it’s too much to ask of a man he really just met. After chewing his lip for a second, he tells Andy, “Yeah, I can ask my friend Darcy for rides.”

Andy nods his brown-haired head and makes a mark on the paper he’s holding, then closes up the folder. “I’ll get the ball rolling on this, then.” 

“Thanks!” Bucky says enthusiastically, and Andy gives them both a wave and heads out. 

Steve has been listening attentively the whole time, as per usual, and picks up on Bucky’s trepidation. “You don’t seem sure about Darcy. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, really,” Bucky denies weakly. “You’ve already done so much. It’ll be fine…Darcy just runs late sometimes. It’ll be fine.”

To say Darcy runs late _sometimes_ is like saying the ocean has _some_ water in it, but he’s insistent to Steve anyway, because he’s a stubborn SOB. He _can’t_ ask him for too much and make himself a pain in the ass. Steve looks unsure, but goes along with it. He does offer support, though, blue eyes trained on Bucky’s, which makes it difficult for Bucky not to cave. 

“Well, if anything ever comes up, think of me as your backup plan.” He nudges the bag towards the brunet. “Now how about a piece of lemon cake to celebrate?”

\--

“Of _course_ I can take you to PT, Bucky.”

Darcy had stopped by after the dinner hour and was currently plunked down in the ever-present chair next to his bed. Bucky swore if he ever saw another hospital bed or Geri Chair after this, he’d lose his mind. As it is, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks, Darcy!” 

Her legs are crossed at the knee, one foot dangling in the air and waving in a rhythm unknown to anyone but her. “Of course, sweetheart! I’m surprised your new guardian angel didn’t volunteer first.”

Bucky smiles at the remembrance, knowing full well who she is referring to. “He sort of did volunteer himself as a backup,” he tells her. 

She smiles broadly. “Then wouldn’t you rather he took you?”

Shaking his head, Bucky stretches his long legs, encased in blue plaid flannel PJs. It’s getting old already, having to change positions frequently to keep from stiffening up. “I want to see him, sure, but that seems like a lot to ask from someone you just met, doesn’t it?”

“Not if he wants to do it, and you want him to do it.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

Darcy huffs indelicately. “You give him more credit for disinterested benevolence than I do.”

Say what? “Huh?” Bucky peers at her shortsightedly.

“Has it occurred to you that maybe he likes you, too? You’re not an asshole, you know.” She winks at him. “I hardly ever want to face punch you.”

Bucky laughs, holding his ribs protectively. “Thanks for that ringing endorsement,” he says through gulps of laughter. “Bucky Barnes: not an asshole. You won’t even want to face punch him.”

Darcy dissolves into giggles and Bucky clutches his ribs even tighter. “Quit it, you’re making my ribs hurt.”

“Alright,” she says, and stands up. “I gotta scoot. Text me tomorrow when you know what time they’re letting you out and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

She leans over the bed rail and gives him a hug. “Later, alligator.”

\--

Discharge day! Bucky can’t remember the last time he was so excited to _leave_ someplace. Already he was envisioning FOOD, his own soft bed, FOOD, his own soft couch, FOOD, no people coming and going at all hours, FOOD, and no weird smells. Home. Darcy came and collected him (in her own good time—fortunately he altered the hour he told her he would be ready, expecting her to be running on Darcy time). His sister, Becca, met them at Bucky’s place and together they coddled him and fussed over him until he’d had enough. 

“I’m fine,” he’d insisted, after getting comfortable on his couch and shooing his dark-haired sister away from him. “Stop treating me like a baby.” 

“We just want to make sure you have everything you need,” Becca cooed. She stood on one side of the couch, and Darcy on his other side. 

“If there’s beer in the fridge, I have everything I need,” Bucky joked, and Darcy clucked annoyingly. 

“You know you shouldn’t have alcohol if you’re taking those pain pills, right?” 

“Uggggh!” Bucky groaned and stuffed a pillow behind his head. “Stop mother-henning me, both of you! I’m not taking any more of those pills anyway. They make me feel like a zombie.” 

At that announcement, both ladies had made various noises of concern, sympathy, and general smothering, so Bucky pretended like he was in dire need of a nap so they would go away. Once he was alone in his own quiet space, he sighed deeply in relief and looked around. His town house is in a sedate Georgetown neighborhood on a tree-lined street, with none of the college kids that inhabited some of the other areas close to the university. It’s full of everything he finds comforting, and nothing he doesn’t. Muted colors, overstuffed, Shaker style furniture, dark, wide-planked wood floors. The late afternoon sun streams in through the windows. 

_Home_. Bucky feels his eyelids start to droop, and falls asleep right there on the couch. So maybe he wasn’t pretending when he said he needed a nap. He wakes later when his cell phone starts to buzz and vibrate against his butt. It’s Sam, texting him. 

_How ya doing? OK to stop by now?_

Bucky texts back affirmatively and decides to make a bathroom run while he waits for Sam to arrive. Thankfully, he’s got a half bath on the first floor as well as the full bath upstairs, so he’s able to take care of business easily. His early goal is to only have to climb those stairs twice a day—once in the morning and once in the evening. Next he gimps his way into the kitchen with his walker and opens the refrigerator up, surveying its contents. After the accident occurred, his sister had been over here and disposed of anything perishable that wouldn’t make it till he got back, so he was kind of expecting it to be bare bones in there. 

Instead, there’s fresh produce, OJ, yogurt…even a container of grapes, which Bucky loves. He promptly takes those out and shoves them into the freezer, because frozen grapes were totally the cat’s meow. As he transferred the grapes over to the freezer side of the fridge, he noticed the six-pack of beer situated just behind where the grapes sat. That was new, too. He grins and plucks up a bottle. _Thank you Becca_. 

It’s a short distance from the fridge around the kitchen island so he leaves his walker and holds onto the island as he makes his way around it. He’s just parked himself on one of the barstools on the other side and had a few mouthfuls of beer when his doorbell rings, so he abandons his drink and shuffles his way back to the walker, then to the front door. It takes him pretty long, and Sam, being an asshole, rings the doorbell five times. 

“I’m COMING, dick!” Bucky bellows, halfway there. Opening the door gives him a pretty big surprise—but a welcome one. 

A pair of dark eyes stare back at him, but there’s another blue pair right next to them. A blue pair that makes Bucky suck in a breath of air excitedly. 

“Steve!” he exclaims happily, when both Sam and his Avenger friend turn out to be at the door, Sam in front with Steve to his side and slightly behind him. 

Sam rolls his eyes and pats Bucky’s upper arm as he sweeps past him. “Thanks for noticin’ me, bro.” 

Swiveling his body to watch him pass, Bucky snaps his fingers and razzes, “And your name again was…” 

“I believe it was Dick,” Sam tosses over his shoulder, laughs, and keeps going, while Steve still stands uncertainly on Bucky’s door step. 

When Bucky turns back to him, Steve says, “Hope it’s okay I’m a tag-a-long. I was with Sam when he texted you.” 

They both are dressed as though they’ve come from the gym, wearing t-shirts and sweatpants. That soft material clings to Steve’s thighs in a most pleasing fashion—damn, those legs are sumptuous looking, but Bucky manages to drag his eyes up to Steve’s face somehow, and the earnest expression on it is so endearing, Steve could’ve busted in the door at two A.M. and Bucky wouldn’t have cared. 

“No, I’m glad you’re here. Come on in.” 

Steve pulls the door shut behind himself and waits for Bucky to start for the living room, which is where Sam has headed. Bucky shrugs his shoulders a bit before speaking. “I’d give you a guided tour, but I’m a bit low on fuel right now.” 

“No, Bucky, you’re doing so well. Don’t worry about it,” Steve responds, staying next to Bucky even though he’s moving at a snail’s pace. “I like your place.” 

“Thanks.” Pleased, he looks at Steve as the other man is looking around the room. Steve doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who says stuff he doesn’t mean, so he must be sincere. He wonders what Steve’s apartment looks like in turn. Is it filled with medals of honor displayed in cases all over the walls? Or punching bags hanging from the ceiling? _No. That’s not Steve._ His place probably looks a lot like Bucky’s, he decides. Probably a bookcase stuffed with books, and he bets Steve has a record collection and a real record player _somewhere_ in his apartment. 

He looks around at his own place. Good thing he’s tidy by nature and his house was fairly clean before he was injured, or this might have been embarrassing. When he makes it back to the couch and sits down (Sam is sprawled over the recliner), Steve sits down next to him. _Thank you Jesus_. Steve smells _really_ good, not like sweat at all. He breathes him in, clean and sort of woodsy. 

“Steve was helping me move some stuff around in my office,” Sam helpfully informs him. 

“You finally get that flat screen in there you were jonesing for?” Bucky teases. 

There is a chuckle from Steve, but Sam groans. “Try more filing cabinets.” 

“More?” Bucky gasps. 

Sam’s office serves as back-up records space. There are so many filing cabinets in there already, you could hardly move around without banging into one. But Bucky was hardly surprised that the government hadn’t gotten around to getting all of that information transferred to an electronic system yet. After all, that would be _efficient_ , and when has the government ever been called that? 

“One more and I’m not sure he’ll be able to sit down in there,” Steve quips. 

Sam waves a hand around. “Enough about work, you glad to be home?” 

Bucky expresses his happiness and gratitude at being home with multiple facial expressions and verbiage, and thanks Steve for helping to make that happen. From there, their conversation touches on Bucky’s immediate plans and not so immediate plans, as Sam asks about therapy and what Bucky’s doctor thinks his prognosis is. That could have been a depressing topic, except that his prognosis is actually good. 

“Most importantly, when can you get back to your baby?” Sam wants to know. 

“Your baby?” Steve has perked up in his seat next to him. 

“A Dyna Low Rider,” Bucky answers, shifting his weight around. 

Bucky _loves_ his bike. His Harley. His _baby_. 

“Nice,” Steve says, nodding. 

“Steve has a crotch rocket,” Sam claims, grinning cheekily. 

Steve’s face is horrified, and Bucky laughs openly at the sight. “Steve, what is she really?” 

“Street 750.” 

Another Harley. Bucky feels a grin spread across his face. So they both like to ride. Interesting. Too bad it’ll be a long while till Bucky’s ready for that again. “Doc said months before I can get back on her.” 

Two simultaneous and disappointed _“Oh”_ ’s fill the air. When Sam hops up to use the bathroom, Steve turns straight to Bucky. 

“So, you’ll have to let me know when you think you’re ready for an outing by car, Buck.” 

“Oooh,” Bucky purses his lips. “You’ve got something planned already, do you?” 

“Of course! When you’re ready.” 

The way Steve is looking at him, honestly like Bucky is the best thing to come around since sliced bread, makes him feel so amazing inside. But is Steve looking at him like two people who will be great friends, or two people who could maybe potentially be something more? Peanut butter and jelly, the basic but solid staple? Or something sexier and more delicious, like peanut butter and chocolate? Maybe it’s too early to tell for Steve, but Bucky sure knows which option he wants. 

“I’m ready right now,” he says enthusiastically, “But it’ll depend on how much walking is involved.” 

“I’d guess close to a football field,” Steve says, looking pensive. “But it’s paved, and we can take our time.” 

Thinking about it, Bucky nods slowly. A football field. Part of him thinks it’s sad that he’s got to _consider_ whether that distance is too much for him, while the other part of him thinks, _that’s a long fucking way!_ But Steve said they can go slow, and he’ll have his walker. And if he can’t make it that far, then Steve’s just going to have to give him a piggy back ride. That thought makes him grin like the cat that got the canary. 

“I think I can handle that,” he tells Steve. “When do you want to go?” 

Steve lays his arm across the back of the couch, looking relaxed and comfortable in Bucky’s space. Makes him want to see Steve lounging on his couch every damn day. His bicep and forearm look pretty enticing, on display up there at the top of the cushion, and Bucky can’t help thinking about stroking down the length of that arm with his fingertips. 

Oblivious to any of that, Steve asks, “Assuming nothing terrible happens in the world between now and then, how about early Saturday morning?” 

“Sure!” Bucky agrees, then wrinkles his brow. “What day is today?” 

Steve chuckles and is joined by Sam, returning from the bathroom. “It’s Thursday, dude,” Sam updates him as he retakes his seat. 

“Well, when you’re sitting on your ass with nothing to do, the days start blending together.” 

“I thought sitting on your ass hurt too much?” Sam scratches his head and jokes, because he’s such a fucker. 

“Funny.” Bucky decides to forgive that comment, though, because Sam brought Steve with him, and Bucky and Steve now have a solid friend-date planned for this weekend, and Steve is still looking at him right now with those sparkly blue eyes that make him feel woozy inside. _So_ woozy. He takes in a deep, steadying breath. This weekend is gonna be good, he can feel it. 

—-

Steve 

It was funny, Steve thought, the twists your life could take in such a short amount of time. And if anyone knew about unexpected twists, it was Steve Rogers. But as he rang Bucky’s doorbell, the doorbell of a man he’d only met a few days earlier, his mind filled with thoughts he wouldn’t have anticipated in a million years. 

His first reaction when he’d walked into that hospital room had been one of instant attraction. When Sam said he had a friend he wanted him to meet, Steve went willingly enough, but he never imagined meeting someone who took his breath away like Bucky did. That smile, those icy blue eyes, and that body. Bucky was muscular and big, almost as big as Steve, and that was saying something. The air in the room felt charged with electricity—and when he and Bucky locked eyes? It was intoxicating. He couldn’t wait to see him again. The minute he and Sam stepped out of the hospital door to leave, he wanted to do an about face and go back in. 

And it wasn’t just his appearance that Steve found appealing, it was his _spirit_. To find such strength and determination in a man was enchanting. He’d just wanted to bask in his energy; it drew him in, closer and closer in a tight spiral, like a moth to flame. Where had Sam been hiding him all this time? Such was his captivation with Bucky that Steve was uncharacteristically forward, taking the first opportunity he could to go back and visit him a second time. Even now he can feel the pull of his personality when Bucky opens the door, standing there with his walker and smiling broadly at him. 

“Morning,” Steve half speaks, half whispers. 

“Is it?” Bucky teases darkly, because it’s five thirty AM, it’s still dark as night out, and most sane people are still asleep in their beds. Nevertheless, Bucky pulls his door shut behind himself and starts towards Steve, pushing his walker in front of him resolutely. 

“Come on, I promise you can take a nap later on, old man,” Steve clowns back as they walk slowly toward his car. 

“Who you calling old?” Bucky growls playfully, stumping over to the car. 

"You’re the one with the walker,” Steve teases, stepping over the grass wet with dew so Bucky can navigate the paved pathway to the drive. 

Bucky stops in his tracks a moment. “Ohhhhhh, low blow, Rogers." 

Steve lets out a giggle and punches him lightly on the upper arm; Bucky’s tricep feels hard and substantial under his fist, spawning a desire to feel those arms wrap around him... and that triggers the now-familiar stab of guilt that accompanies those thoughts. Since they met, he’s been plagued with guilty feelings whenever he thinks about how hot Bucky is. Steve tells himself what a horrible human being he is—having lusty thoughts about a man who’s been severely injured, who’s trying to regain his health, for crying out loud, not get ogled and drooled over. 

He can’t help it, though. One look at that body and that face, and Steve was pretty much done for. Even in the dark now, his eyes instinctively drop to Bucky's spectacular ass and he has to remind himself not to be such an animal. He has no idea what Bucky’s inclinations are, and at this point it doesn’t even matter. He’s now bound and determined to do anything and everything he can to befriend Bucky and help him recuperate from his injuries. How could he not, when Bucky is so clearly putting up with all kinds of pain and working his hardest to get better? It was amazing, really, how nothing seemed to get him down. How courageously he was facing such a serious and painful injury. It was inspirational. 

And just really, unbelievably sexy. 

Steve cringes at himself internally (again) and hops ahead of Bucky to open the passenger side door for him, glad he’s driving a Jeep that’s higher off the ground and easier to climb in and out of. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, folding up his walker so he can hold it in front of him when he climbs in. 

Steve circles the car, climbs into the driver’s seat and glances at his companion. In the glow of the streetlight above, he drinks in the strong profile and admonishes himself to _behave_ , until Bucky is situated, turns to him and speaks. 

“Ready to go?” 

“Uh huh,” Steve replies, and starts up the engine. 

This early in the morning on a Saturday means not much in the way of traffic, and there’s not even a line at the drive-through when they stop for coffee. Steve planned it out so they’d have just enough time to get a caffeine fix before getting into position. It’s a short drive, one they fill with quiet conversation about motorcycles, and riding, and where they like to ride. Bucky doesn’t bother asking where they’re going, because Steve already told him it’s a surprise. 

Parking at the southern end of their destination, he looks to Bucky for any sign of recognition and smiles when he sees none. _Good._ He’s never been here. Meridian Hill Park is situated within a mostly residential neighborhood; not even some of the locals really knew about it or frequented it. There’s a particular spot Steve wants Bucky to see, but they have to walk a little ways to get to it. 

“We’ve got to walk some,” he tells Bucky, and lifts both of their coffee cups from the cup holders at the center of the dash to bring with them. 

“Okay,” Bucky says a trifle uncertainly, but he climbs out of the car with trust in his eyes. 

There is a wispy sound as his dark, navy windbreaker rubs against the car seat, and then he’s up and dragging the walker out of the car when Steve joins him. Since the sun isn’t even up yet, it’s slightly nippy out and they’re both wearing jeans and light jackets. 

“I already hate this damn thing,” Bucky grumbles good-naturedly as he unfolds it and snaps it open. Steve gets it. Everyone gets frustrated at times with how slow recovery is, and has to blow off steam. Even with his accelerated healing powers, there have been times he’s been chomping at the bit to be cleared by medical to return to duty. He can’t imagine how this feels for Bucky. 

“It won’t be forever,” he replies, trying to sound encouraging as he patiently holds both coffees in his hands. 

“Three months,” Bucky moans as they start off. “Lead on, MacDuff,” he adds, sounding more chipper as he looks to Steve. 

“Straight ahead,” Steve replies, with a tip of his head forward. 

They walk in companionable silence, taking in the peaceful hush around them. They’re on a wide, paved sidewalk lined with mature trees that form a natural tunnel. Spaced out evenly along the walk are streetlights that cast a yellowish glow. They’re alone but for the occasional jogger who passes by on quiet feet. Steve knows the path so well, he could walk it in his sleep. 

“You come here a lot?” Bucky asks in a soft tone, almost as if he doesn’t want to disturb the serenity of the place by speaking too loudly. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods and slurps his coffee. “You doing okay so far?” 

They haven’t got much further to go and Bucky’s speed hasn’t changed, but they’ve gone a football field’s distance already; Steve’s estimate was a bit off. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky answers stoically. 

The sky has been steadily lightening on the horizon, so Steve is relieved when he can see the spot he’s aiming for looming closer. He can hear it, too, the soft rush of water, loud with the lack of much other noise to compete with it. Looking ahead, Bucky sees it, too. 

“Steve,” he says breathily. “I had no idea this place was even here." 

“Not many do,” Steve admits, and points to their left. Behind a reflecting pool lies a series of low, stone steps leading to a stone structure at the top of a gentle hill. A cascade of water flows from the top, down each step and into the pool. It’s picturesque, and beautiful, and Steve loves coming here just to stare at it and think. There are wooden park benches on their side and they slowly make their way over to them. The sun is just starting to peek over the tops of the trees as they sit down, close but not touching each other. 

Steve hands Bucky his coffee with a smile. “Did I mention I like sunrises?” 

The early morning light reflects off Bucky’s face as he shakes his head, laughing. “Well, I hope you didn’t drag me out of my warm bed because you hate them.” 

Steve chokes on the coffee he was draining from his cup. Now there’s an image he won’t be able to wipe from his mind—Bucky, draped across his bed, bare limbs exposed, long and lean, hair mussed and face angelic in sleep. 

He tries to recover by faking a cough, then aims for distraction. He points to the series of steps. “They’re really pretty when the sun comes up and throws light all over them.” 

_Just like you are_ , he thinks, as he watches Bucky’s face. As the sunlight grows brighter, so does his smile. 

“It is really pretty,” he agrees. “Thank you for bringing me here.” His eyes turn back to Steve’s. 

“My pleasure,” Steve replies, and beams. 

The two of them sit for some time and Steve asks all sorts of questions about Bucky’s upbringing, wanting to know it all. Bucky doesn’t ask many questions about Steve's childhood, but he assumes that’s because it’s become pretty public knowledge. Instead, Bucky asks him things like what kinds of books and movies he likes, if he follows sports, and that kind of thing. It’s refreshing, how Bucky never ever asks him what it’s like to be Captain America. He likes it and he’s not used to it at the same time. Keeps him feeling slightly off kilter, but in a good way. 

Steve hasn’t had the guts to ask what he really wants to yet—if Bucky is seeing anyone. He doubts it, only because taking an injured person for walks seems like it would fall under jobs for a significant other to perform, but you never know. He’s been trying to figure out a suave and subtle way to ask…and came up with nothing. You could say flirting was never really his strong suit. His opportunity comes when Bucky mentions Darcy again. 

He tries to keep his eyes and voice neutral as he states, “You haven’t mentioned any girlfriend.” 

Bucky looks down at his coffee cup, long lashes framing his cheeks, then back to Steve. “Don’t have one of those,” he says lightly and takes a sip of his drink, eyes still on Steve. 

_Breathe._ No girlfriend! Steve tries not to get his hopes up too high yet, before gathering more information. Raising his eyebrows, he guesses, “Too busy?” 

“Don’t swing that way.” Bucky’s thumb traces little circles around his Starbucks cup. 

Steve’s heart thunders in his chest. His legs are a jelly-like substance masquerading as flesh and bone. He’s gay! Now, the big question; should he tell Bucky about himself? That’s a scary thought, or at least, it always was before. But the way Bucky looks at him is like he’s seeing Steve, the _real_ Steve, and not Captain America. Bucky makes him feel like he can tell him anything, and it’ll be alright. He nods slightly, as much to himself as it is to Bucky. 

“Sometimes I don’t think I do, either.” 

There. He said it. He keeps his eyes on Bucky, not really sure what kind of reaction he’s waiting for. Surprise, yes, and there is a slight widening of his eyes, but otherwise Bucky takes it in stride, like various Avengers must make confessions to him on the daily. That was one of the remarkable things about him. None of that superhero stuff fazed him. Captain America is bisexual? Okay, sure. Pass the salt. 

Steve realizes he’s crushing his empty coffee cup in his hand and relaxes his grip. “I don’t…tell a lot of people that,” he adds. 

There is a small smile on Bucky’s face. “A lot?” 

Steve finds himself smiling, too. “Okay—none.” 

Bucky’s smile turns sweet, and he leans over and bumps Steve’s shoulder with his, sending tingles of pleasure reverberating down his shoulder and into that arm. 

“That’s a little less than _a lot_ , Steve.” His head tilts to one side. “How do you feel telling me?” 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve thinks about that. “I feel good, actually,” he responds truthfully. His stomach isn’t churning like he expected it would, sharing something so personal, and he knows he made the right choice, trusting Bucky. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Bucky says breathily, and Steve is very aware of just how close they are to each other, and how his face feels hot, and how soft Bucky’s lips look. 

Leaning in slightly toward Steve, Bucky’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something, and at that moment there is a soft, female voice that interrupts them. 

“Um, excuse me, Captain America?” 

Regretfully, Steve looks away from the man next to him. Standing in front of them is a petite young woman dressed in spandex running capris and a long sleeved top. She’s got her phone out in one hand and a hopeful expression on her face. 

“Oh, uh, hi there,” Steve replies with a smile, and because he can never, ever say no, he hops up from the bench. “Did you want a picture?” 

“Yes, please! If you wouldn’t mind…I think you’re amazing,” she gushes, and spins around so fast to stand next to him, her long blonde ponytail smacks him in the chest (she only comes up to chest level on him). 

Holding out her phone with one arm outstretched, she gets ready to take the picture. Before she can do so, however, Bucky has wrestled himself up to his feet and says, “Here, let me take it for you.” 

“Oh, thank you!” she cries, and hands him her phone. 

He pushes the walker forward and takes a few steps to get enough distance between them to get a good shot, then snaps off a couple of pictures for her. She really is a polite young woman, thanking Bucky again and then thanking Steve, too, before tucking her phone back into a pocket and continuing on her way with a wave. 

Bucky looks at him, leaning forward onto his walker. “You are way nicer to people than I would be,” he predicts, a lopsided grin on his face. 

Steve waves a hand. “You get used to it. And I don’t believe you’d be mean to people, either.” He stoops to pick up Bucky’s empty cup, figuring they’ve idled there long enough, and the jogging/walking population is just going to get bigger now that the sun is well up over the horizon. “We should probably get moving.” 

Bucky nods and they start their way back toward Steve’s car. They’re only about halfway there when Bucky stops and stills, back stiffening in pain. Steve stops next to him. 

“What is it, Buck?” 

A low moan escapes Bucky’s mouth. “My hamstring again, goddamnit.” He looks around desperately. “I need to sit down and stretch it. Are there any benches?” 

But there aren’t. Steve can’t take the pained look on Bucky’s face. Thinking fast, he drops to one knee on the paved walk and shoves Bucky’s walker away, over to one side with a clattering sound. Bucky grunts at the loss of support on that side and instinctively puts one hand on Steve’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“Here,” Steve directs him. “Put your leg up on my knee, you can stretch it that way.” 

Nodding, Bucky lifts his cramped leg slowly, wobbling at bit, and rests his leg at ankle level on top of Steve’s thigh. Steve reaches up and puts a hand at Bucky’s hip to steady him more, since his weight is now all on one leg. Bucky’s entire left leg is shaking, but he leans forward to try and stretch the hamstring out, closing his eyes in pain. His head is now quite close to Steve’s, and the multiple points of contact between their bodies is oh so very stimulating. 

He grits his teeth. This is _clinical_ touching. Bucky is in pain and needs help. It doesn’t mean anything more than that. That’s what his brain says, anyway. His body is saying something completely different, as every neuron he possesses is now lit up with need, sensing the presence of the one he desires, so close. 

Bucky’s face has calmed, so the stretch must be helping. He opens his eyes again, staring straight into Steve’s, and God help him, Steve thinks he sees the same look of want, of longing, in those pale, blue-grey eyes too. Bucky’s gaze drops to Steve’s mouth and then slowly works its way back to his eyes, and Steve has never wanted to kiss anyone so badly. 

He can feel his breathing has sped up, heart thumping in his chest. Just to press his mouth to Bucky’s and taste him…there are only a few inches separating their faces. It wouldn’t be difficult to close that distance. Bucky’s hand is warm on his shoulder, his leg heavy on Steve’s. _Leg._ Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky’s and looks down at his leg to center himself. _Stop it._ This is about Bucky’s health, and not his own fantasies of intimacy. _Get it together, Steve._

“How’s…how’s your leg feeling?” he croaks out awkwardly. 

“Better…it’s better,” Bucky whispers. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

He keeps his face down so Bucky can’t see his embarrassment, until Bucky’s cramp is relieved and he takes his leg back down to the ground. Once he’s got his balance, Steve pulls the walker back over in front of him and gets up to standing, brushing off his knee with a rapid swipe of his hand. 

“Okay, ready to move?” He looks at Bucky again, feeling flushed but yet pleased at the same time. He’s not sure what that look between them was really about, but after their conversation at the waterfall, there’s no denying they have a connection. It feels good. Steve’s got practically zero experience with figuring out what kind of connection it is, but it’s there. 

He’s extra attentive for the rest of the journey back to the car, cautioning Bucky not to try and walk too fast, advice which Bucky ignores like the brave, stubborn idiot that he is. 

“It’s not a race,” he admonishes him with a smile. 

“The sooner I get back to the car and can sit down, the better,” Bucky insists. “Unless you want to carry me back,” he jokes, looking at Steve with a grimace. 

Steve shrugs as they reach the car. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he wonders out loud, and then blushes. 

Did he really just say that? Bucky looks amused and delighted as he waits for Steve to get with the program and unlock the door. 

“New part of your workout, huh?” he suggests light-heartedly, and smiles when Steve laughs shyly and pushes the key fob, door unlocking with a loud click. 

“Let’s get you back to bed then,” Steve states. Blood then rushes furiously to his face when he realizes what he just said. Geez, he can’t keep his foot out of his mouth. “That sounded worse once it was out of my mouth,” he adds belatedly, seeking out Bucky’s eyes again, ready to plead for understanding. 

Bucky’s cheeks are pink, but Steve can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or laughter, because he has quite a case of giggles as Steve pulls open the car door for him. 

“Relax, I knew what you meant,” Bucky tells him, folding up the walker for the trip back. He ducks his head down slightly to climb into the Jeep. “You should see your face, though.” 

Steve can imagine what his face looks like—the same look he had every time he ever tried to speak to a girl when he was growing up, back before the war, before everything. Idly he wonders what it would have been like if he’d met Bucky during that period of his life. During the ride back to his row house, Steve manages to avoid saying anything else embarrassing. Silently he’s been plotting ways he can see Bucky again, and thinks he came up with the perfect plan. As they are walking up to his front door, he says to him, “I guess next time it’s your turn to pick a place.” 

Bucky’s grin is contagious. “That sounds fair,” he agrees, and pulls his house keys out of the pocket of his windbreaker. “Text ya later?” 

Steve nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, and if you need anything, let me know.” 

Bucky nods agreeably and turns to his door. Steve waits till he gets the door open; after they exchange goodbyes, he swings around and heads back to his vehicle with a bounce in his step and a happy warmth suffusing his chest. 


	4. Peanut Butter and Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things That Happen:  
> 1) Therapy  
> 2) Sam is Sam.  
> 3) Friend date.  
> 4) The long-awaited (by me, anyway) first kiss, and everything that goes with that. Read: Steve and Bucky get it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such fabulous feedback and love. You've no idea how much that means. :-)

Chapter Four

Bucky lies quiet with his eyes drifting shut in ecstasy, muscles supple and pliant, while warm hands move over his bare skin. “I think I love you,” he murmurs. 

There is a soft chuckle from above. “Well, that’s rather sudden, isn’t it?”

Bucky smiles. “Sudden, but true. No one has ever made me feel like this.”

The physical therapist assistant working on his hamstring, a blonde, ruddy-faced woman with a laugh like a machine gun going off and a dry wit that Bucky appreciated very much, pauses for a short burst of her staccato laughter. “You speak lies. All lies,” she jokes and resumes her massage. “Don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you if you flatter me, Bucky.”

“What?” Bucky laughs. “I would NEVER think that. You enjoy torture too much.”

“Gotta get my kicks somehow, don’t I?” She pats his back, signifying she’s finished. “Seriously, your hamstrings are tight as a drum. Do they give you a lot of trouble?”

“That one cramps up something fierce.” 

She lifts her eyebrows. “Are you stretching at home?”

“Yes, I swear!” Slowly he sits back up, feeling like his leg is jelly. That’s a good thing, but it makes pulling on his sweatpants over his shorts a bit tricky. 

It’s his fourth physical therapy session, and so far it’s been going fairly well. In other words it hurts like hell, but he knows it’s good for him. On the plus side, he feels like his rate of locomotion has increased from snail to sloth level and now all the way up to turtle. But he’s glad he’s had something to distract him, because Steve texted him a week ago that he was being “called away”, meaning he’s most likely somewhere killing bad guys, and Bucky hasn’t heard from him since. 

Even Sam didn’t have any other details, though Bucky had hit him up immediately, hoping for an inside scoop. It wasn’t exactly that he was worried; after all, Steve was a big boy (a _really_ big boy) who could take care of himself. But being an Avenger didn’t make him invincible, and no one could predict every danger that could arise. 

Okay, he was worried. Only a _normal_ amount of worry, though, he told himself. Privately he hoped wherever Steve was that Thor was with him, because seriously, forget the hammer, that guy looked like he could crush skulls with his pinky finger and not break a sweat. 

He looks around the clinic; it’s fairly small, so even though Darcy is on the other side of the room over by the water cooler, tapping something on her phone, she looks up when she hears Bucky call out her name. She gives him a finger wave and walks over, still wearing the denim overalls and Converse sneakers she was wearing while working this morning. 

“Ready to go?” 

After glancing at the PTA for confirmation and getting a nod, he pipes up with a “yep” and carefully slides down off of the treatment table. There are several plinths all in a row and a bunch of weight machines on the other side of the room that Bucky would really like to start using, but can’t. _Fuck this shit._

Darcy helpfully pushes his walker over to him, as it’s slightly out of his reach as he bends and flails for it. 

“Thanks, Darce.”

“Anytime, sweetie.” 

As they walk out to her car in the cool morning sun, she asks him about Steve. Ordinarily, Steve would be the first thing she asked about on the way over, because Darcy’s appreciation of Captain America’s fine-looking ass rivaled Bucky’s, but that morning’s ride to therapy consisted mostly of a lengthy diatribe on the pitfalls of hiring a supplier who was committed to keeping to his own schedule of TV watching, rather than timely deliveries. 

“So you don’t know where he is?”

“No.” 

She unlocks the doors and lets him wrestle with his while she rounds the car to the driver’s side. “And you don’t know when he’ll be back?”

“No.” He slides into the car and pulls the folded up walker in with him.

“That’s a bummer.” 

She’s telling him. They both get their doors shut and are on their way. He’s been thinking about the blond frequently and frankly, it’s making him nervous, just how much Steve has been on his mind. Part of him wonders if he’s setting himself up for some heartbreak down the road and the other part doesn’t give a shit about that, because the other day when they were at the park, he could swear Steve was going to kiss him. 

He’s lost in that daydream, thinking about the hungry look on Steve’s face as Bucky stood in front of him, leg propped up on the tree trunk that is Steve’s thigh, trying to work out the atrocious cramp that he had going. He’s thinking about Steve’s plump, succulent lips and how they had parted slightly as Bucky stared at them, fantasizing about how it would feel to be on the receiving end of that kiss. 

He hardly even feels it when Darcy smacks him on the shoulder and says tartly, “Earth to Bucky! Are you even listening to me?”

His face colors and he grins at her apologetically. “Of course I am. Did you say something?”

She rolls her eyes. “Never mind. That moony look on your face says it all.”

Moony look? Suspicious, Bucky pulls down the sun visor and examines his own face in the mirror, much to Darcy’s amusement. She giggles loudly and snaps the visor back up into place. Truth was, Bucky had been having all sorts of fantasies about a certain well-built male specimen, ever since that confession on the park bench when Steve admitted to not being only attracted to females. 

His first reaction had been unequivocal glee, of course, at the revelation that he might actually have a chance with Steve. His second had been more pragmatic, a sweet sense of privilege and honor that Steve chose to confide in him. He wanted to be worthy of that trust and not put any pressure on that Steve might not be ready for, since clearly this was all pretty new to him.

So even though Bucky _wanted_ to kiss him, he didn’t. His strategy would be to wait for him to make the first move. 

But first, Steve had to come back.

\--

_Hey, I’m back._

Bucky nearly dropped the glass he was holding when he saw the message from Steve pop up on his phone’s home screen. _He’s back!_ It had been almost two weeks, and he was embarrassed how much he had missed seeing that ridiculously handsome face and the smile that went with it. And various other parts of that anatomy, of course. 

Grabbing his phone off of the kitchen counter, he types in: _Any new bullet holes?_

And then erases it, thinking _what if he DOES have a new bullet hole, you ass?_

Instead he types: _Welcome home! All’s quiet again?_

Steve’s reply comes back almost immediately, and it gives Bucky a warm feeling in his chest, that Steve thought of him enough to let him know he got back safely. 

_Yes. Mostly. How are you feeling?_

Bucky hesitates before answering this one. Should he just be polite and say “fine”? Or tell the truth and say how much he despises his current state? He settles for somewhere in the middle.

_Okay. PT is kicking my butt._

Steve sends a sad smiley face, followed by: _You and Sam wanna grab dinner?_

That brings a smile to Bucky’s face. _Love to. You text him yet?_

_Just did. I can come pick you up and he can meet us there. That OK?_

Bucky tip taps back quickly: _Works for me. See you later?_

He gets a happy smiley face emoji this time and for some reason, it turns his own little smile into a huge, goofy smile. 

\--

Later that day, while Bucky is lying on his back on his bed stretching, his phone buzzes again. He picks it up and holds it above his head to read the new text. Sam is backing out of dinner, saying he’s coming down with something and they should go without him. 

Bucky types back _Sorry to hear that, dude. Feel better._

He drops his phone down on the bed and regards the white ceiling above him. So, dinner alone with Steve. What a fucking shame. Stunning, magnificent Steve, all to himself. Whatever will they do to pass the time? He’s hoping for some heavy flirting, though he’s not quite sure that’s Steve’s style. Might be more realistic to hope for some subtle innuendo. 

Just like when Steve made that comment about getting Bucky back to bed—as provocative as Bucky would like to think it was, he knows Steve didn’t mean it that way. It’s just not him. As far as predatory behavior went, Steve was no wolf. More like a cuddly puppy dog. But that was okay with Bucky—he’ll cuddle the shit out of that puppy dog every day of the week and twice on Sunday. 

Ready and willing when the puppy dog arrives, Bucky is wearing jeans, a soft Henley and his stylish walker. They go to a restaurant of Steve’s choosing, a cozy place on the U Street corridor called the Fainting Goat. It’s not overly romantic or overly commercial; Bucky likes the choice right off the bat, though he’s never been there. He _hates_ the fact that he’s got to have the walker with him, but Steve’s easy manner and the way he looks right past it to see Bucky only, curbs his irritation with it. 

They are seated at a small round table toward the back of the restaurant. Steve, as usual, looks fairly edible himself in a striped button down. Once they get their food orders in, the real conversation starts.  
After debating it mentally, Bucky does ask Steve about his mission. Not because he wants all the gory details but because it’s an important part of Steve’s life, and if he needs or wants to talk about it, Bucky wants to give him that opportunity. 

Steve does want to talk. Not about specific details that he can’t really reveal. More about the pressure of getting it right, of trying to balance doing his job with protecting civilians and living up to expectations placed on him. Bucky takes it all in, listening intently and asking questions sparingly. He never, ever would have guessed Captain America had doubts. _The fuck?_ Even on a bad day, Steve had more integrity in his little finger than some people had in their whole body. It’s wonderful, though, just hearing Steve’s mellow voice, hearing his thoughts, uncensored and free, even if he is being a dork. He kind of says so, too, when Steve pauses for a break. 

“Are you always like this?”

Steve looks at him over the water glass currently touching his lips. “Like what?”

“A perfectionist.” Bucky smiles crookedly. “It’s not healthy, you know.”

Steve’s head shakes as he puts down his water glass. “I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere recently.”

Bucky leans in, resting his forearms on the table. “Seriously. You can only do your best, Steve. Don’t put all that weight on your shoulders. I mean,” he pretends to size Steve up, “they’re pretty big shoulders, but they can’t take the weight of the world.”

It’s adorable the way Steve’s cheeks pink up under Bucky’s examination, visible even in the low light. He twists his glass around, leaving wet rings on the table. “Sometimes I worry that my best isn’t good enough, you know?”

 _What the actual fuck?_ Bucky grimaces in an are-you-kidding-me way. “Trust me, your best _is_ good enough. Where would we all be if you weren’t in New York when the sky rained aliens? Or here in DC?” He picks up one hand and drops it back down on the table. “I’m ex-military. For all I know, those Hydra gunships were targeting _me_ right along with you and Sam. I might not even be here if you guys hadn’t done what you did.” 

It was a thought he’d had at the time but then discarded; Hydra’s kill list was never made public, so he supposed he’d never know. Steve’s expression remains somewhat skeptical, so Bucky goes on. 

“How about this,” he suggests, grinning coyly, “If you ever start slacking, I promise I’ll take you aside and tell you myself.”

Steve’s mouth curves into a smile. “Promise?” he says, eyebrows arched.

“Promise.”

They’re both grinning at each other stupidly when the waitress, a tall, willowy blonde in a black skirt and white shirt, comes back to check on them and offer dessert, which they both decline. She taps her pen on her tiny notepad.

“Okay then, gentlemen, how would you like the check done?”

Both men speak up simultaneously. “I’ll take it.”

Bucky looks at Steve, then at the waitress. “He drove, so it’s only fair I get the check, right?” 

Before she can answer that, Steve holds up an index finger to make a point. “No,” he argues, “He’s recovering from an injury, so it’s only fair I get the check.”

“No, I’ll get it,” Bucky insists, and Steve won’t give in either. 

“No you won’t, I’ll get it.”

The waitress is smiling at them both. “How about if I crumple it up into a ball and throw it in the air, and whoever catches it gets to take it?”

At the same time Bucky says “NO!” loudly, Steve says “YES!” 

Pretending to glare at the waitress, Bucky observes, “That’s hardly an equal opportunity solution.”

“Well, if you want me to be the tie-breaker,” she tips her head towards Steve, “I’m siding with him.”

“Ha!” Steve exclaims, sitting back and looking superior. 

Bucky gives in, putting his hands up in surrender, but only because Steve smiled at him. After the waitress disappears, he stabs a finger in his dinner company’s direction. “I’m getting the tip, though.” 

Steve laughs. “You’re not going to stiff her because she sided with me, are you?”

“Oh no,” Bucky chuckles, “She’s getting an extra-large tip because she hasn’t asked you for your autograph or a selfie at all.”

“Oh.” Steve looks down at the table, and Bucky recognizes the tell-tale blush that creeps up into his cheeks. 

“You’ve been here before,” he accuses him, and Steve nods with an embarrassed expression on his face. 

“So she’s already gotten a selfie with you, hasn’t she,” Bucky guesses.

There’s another nod, and Bucky dramatically slides his arms across the table and plops his head down between them, groaning. 

“Comes with the territory,” Steve says softly, and maybe he’s right, but that’s something Bucky’s not going to get used to anytime soon. 

\--

On the drive back to Georgetown, Bucky would really like to get Steve to come inside his home for a while, but the man yawned no less than four times in the car, so that idea’s not looking too good. Those yawns prompted an equal number of answering yawns from Bucky, who hadn’t felt tired at all until Steve’s shenanigans. He decides to give the idea a go, anyway.

“You want to come in and watch the baseball game? Or do you need an old man nap before bed?” He asks snarkily, as Steve yawns yet again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s what happens when you don’t sleep, I guess.” They pull up to a traffic light and Steve looks at Bucky, next to him in his car. 

“What do you mean, when you don’t sleep?” Bucky asks, confused. “What time did you get back?”

“We landed at about five this morning.” 

In the evening dusk Bucky can see his street coming up on the left, streetlights casting a warm glow over the pavement. His eyes turn to Steve’s. “And you were in debriefings all day today?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve confirms, turning down Bucky’s street.

Disbelief floods Bucky’s voice. “And you still came out for dinner?”

“Of course,” Steve says, still looking at Bucky. “But I think if I came inside now, I’d fall asleep on your couch.”

He pulls up into the driveway and parks; they climb out and Bucky looks over the top of the roof as he pulls his walker out. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

Steve smiles and walks next to Bucky as he navigates his walker back up to his door. God, no man should look that cute when he’s blushing. That shy way of his makes Bucky feel like that expression is reserved especially for him. 

“I should go…” Steve says, hesitating. “But I’d…I’d like to see you again.” 

“I’d like that,” Bucky tells him, chest starting to thump as he stops in front of his door. _I’d like to see you again._ What a wonderful sentence. Sounded kind of date-ish to Bucky’s ears. 

“Have you picked out a place you want to show me yet?” Steve inquires, standing next to him. He hopes Steve can’t pick up his racing heart. 

“Of course. You busy tomorrow?”

Another grin lights up Steve’s face. “I’m off tomorrow.”

“Great!” Bucky declares. “How about after lunch?”

Steve agrees and they plan to text each other later on. And Bucky doesn’t kiss him, and doesn’t get kissed. But despite that, it’s still been a good day. 

\--

Next morning the sun is shining through his window when Bucky wakes, feeling like his leg has petrified overnight. It’s so stiff he can hardly sit up, and when he attempts to stretch it, it immediately cramps. _Fuck this fucking bullshit._ He moans out loud. _I fucking hate cramps._

Thank goodness he’s got PT this morning; maybe they can work their magic and make it feel better, because he’s really sick of this bullshit. He’s got a life to get back to, thank you very much, so if his body could just _heal_ already, that would be great. The pelvic pain is more of a deep soreness now rather than the knife-like pain he had originally and the ribs seem to be coming along nicely, but this fucking hamstring is really pissing him off. 

He works it out enough to be able to get out of bed and shower, then grab some breakfast. He drinks an inordinate amount of water, in case dehydration is contributing to his problem. His appointment is at 10:00 am, but he told Darcy it was 9:30 to give her enough to time be late picking him up. At precisely 9:23 he receives an anguished call from her. 

“Bucky, oh my God, I forgot about therapy! I’m so sorry!” her voice is pitched high enough to rouse the dogs in the neighborhood.

He tries to calm her down. “Relax, we’re not late yet, my appointment is at ten.”

An accusatory note creeps into her voice. “You told me it was nine-thirty.”

He pauses. “Ahhhh….” 

She pounces. “Have you been telling me the wrong appointment times all along, you little shit?!”

Bucky hardly has any time to make _Errrrr_ sounds in response before she continues. “Anyway, that doesn’t help, because you know how I told you about the supplier being an ass? I’m there, trying to find our stuff before I beat him senseless.”

Bucky gasps. “ _There?_ As in, at the warehouse?” The warehouse is all the way across town. There’s no way Darcy could get from there to his place fast enough to pick him up. 

“Yes!” she wails. “I’m so sorry! Can Sam take you?”

“I’ll try and see.” He tries to soothe her distressed state. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. I can always change the appointment if I can’t get a ride.”

“I’m sorry, honey!” Her voice sounds calmer but still sad. 

“I’ll call Sam. Don’t worry about me.”

They disconnect and Bucky realizes that Sam is probably at home sick, since he said he was coming down with something last night. He chews his lip. Should he call him? Reschedule his appointment? He really wanted to go this morning, because the back of his leg is so sore it feels like he must be bruised from hip to knee. Steve’s face pops up into his brain. He _did_ say he was off today. Should he bug him for a ride? He decides to text first, and if he doesn’t answer right away, he’ll try to find another solution.

_Hey Steve, are you there and/or busy?_

Steve’s response comes back immediately. _I’m here. Everything okay?_

Bucky taps into his phone: _Kinda need a favor. Darcy can’t take me to PT at 10:00._

Bucky has his phone cradled in his hands nervously when the next text comes back. _I’ll be right there._

 _THANK YOU!!!_ He writes it in all caps, with extra exclamation points for emphasis. Steve is _awesome_. 

It’s 9:43 am when Steve rolls up in his Jeep. Bucky’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but he’s got his shorts in a small gym bag in case he needs them. It’s tight and though they’re pushing it, they make it on time. Bucky thanks him about half a dozen times on the way over, but Steve just brushes it off. 

“It’s not a problem, Buck. Told you I was off today, and I already got my run in.”

He does indeed look freshly showered and delicious in his worn jeans and a blue knit shirt that looks so soft you want to bury your face in it. Well, maybe Bucky just wants to bury his face in Steve’s chest, but the shirt _does_ look soft. 

“Still, it’s not how you were going to spend your morning,” is his rebuttal. “In fact, if you want to you can drop me off and then come back in about 45 minutes to pick me up, so you don’t have to sit around the whole time.”

Steve makes a frowny face. “Of course I’m not going to drop you and leave. Besides, I want to see what your therapy is like.”

They’ve pulled into the parking lot and luckily get a spot right up by the door. As Bucky starts for the glass doors at the entrance to the building, he can’t help smiling a little to himself. Steve wants to _stay_. With _him_. For once, he doesn’t mind pushing his crappy walker along and getting it stuck in a big crack in the sidewalk. 

Steve keeps pace with him and pulls open the door ahead of time, blond hair shining in the sun. Bucky gets a little mesmerized watching the way his shoulder muscles ripple as he pulls open the door. _Fuck_ that body is something else. Is he ever going to get a chance to feel those muscles undulate under his own hands? It’s a very distracting thought, but in a way that’s great, because he doesn’t focus at all on that stupid hamstring that’s hurting. 

The waiting room in the PT clinic is packed to the gills; there aren’t even any seats available, because it looks like an entire family (including second cousins) has accompanied one new patient who is sitting and filling out paperwork on a clipboard. They’re all talking to each other like it’s a family reunion as Bucky limps up to the front desk and signs in. He then looks at Steve, a remark about standing room only on the tip of his tongue, but Steve’s expression of concern prevents him from speaking first.

“You’re limping more today, how come?” Steve asks, eyes as sharp as ever. 

Bucky sighs. “It’s just that hamstring again,” he gets out, and then he’s being beckoned from the other door by his physical therapist.

“Bucky, you and your friend can come back now,” the perky voice calls out, and Bucky turns to see his PT, a short, dark-haired young woman with porcelain skin and piercing green eyes, waiting for him. 

Bucky turns to Steve. “You want to come back with me? There’s not really any place to sit out here, anyway…” he justifies his desire to keep Steve with him, and his companion goes along with it easily enough.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, smiling and shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Bucky states, wheeling himself across the waiting room. 

If his therapist recognizes his “friend” at all, she doesn’t let on immediately. She does, however, notice his wonky gait pattern, and puts him on a table right away to check him out. She questions him as she rolls a big stick over the tight muscle, like she’s rolling out pizza dough. Bucky is lying on his stomach, resting his chin on his forearms. It hurts but at the same time feels good.

“Your accident was a roll-over, right?”

“Yeah.” 

Steve is seated next to Bucky’s treatment table, right by his head. He looks at Bucky so intently, Bucky realizes he probably didn’t know that. They’d never really talked in depth about his accident. It was horrible, and his car was totaled, and he doesn’t particularly like thinking about it, so he’d never brought it up.

“You most likely got a pretty nice muscle strain there during the accident,” she guesses.

“How come it didn’t hurt like this while I was in the hospital?” 

“Probably because you were lying around a lot and not doing very much to stress it.”

“Oh. Right.” Bucky makes a gun with his fingers and shoots himself in the temple, and Steve laughs, then looks at the therapist. 

“Is there anything else he can do at home to help it heal?”

“Ice it after you’ve been up on it a lot,” she suggests. “And I’m going to show you a better way to have it stretched out, but don’t overdo it while it’s healing. Can you roll onto your back, please?”

As Bucky obliges her, she asks, “Do you have someone who can stretch it at home for you? You’ll get a better stretch if you’re completely relaxed and someone else is doing the work.”

Bucky makes some indistinct “uhhhhh” sounds as she gets into position, kneeling on the table by his feet and picking up his sore leg. His foot goes onto her shoulder and she leans in slowly, stretching his hamstring. His tongue seems to be glued to the roof of his mouth, as the image of Steve doing this, putting his hands all over Bucky’s body and getting so up close and personal, burns into his brain and won’t leave. 

“I can do it.”

Bucky and the therapist both look at Steve. “I can do it,” he repeats, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Looks simple enough that I can’t screw it up.”

“It’s very simple,” she agrees. She shows him what to do and then suggests he take her place on the table and practice it himself. 

“Sure,” Steve chirps, and hops up out of his chair. 

Swallowing hard, Bucky tries to stay relaxed as Steve and the PT switch places and it’s now Steve’s broad shoulder supporting his leg, and Steve’s warm, gentle hands holding his limb, keeping his knee straight as he stretches the leg. It’s heaven. Bucky’s trying to work it out in his head when exactly Steve thinks he’s going to be around to do this for him, since right now their plans together don’t extend farther than this afternoon. It’s encouraging that Steve volunteered, though. 

It’s more than encouraging, it’s downright hallelujah material. On the inside, Bucky is doing cartwheels. His happiness meter could only go up right now if he and Steve were making out while his leg was being stretched. 

“How’s that feel, Buck?” 

He identifies Steve’s voice, though he doesn’t see his lips move because his own eyes are shut tight in bliss. 

“Excellent,” he says dreamily. No, seriously, his leg feels amazingly good. This is ten times better than the stretch he gets when he’s doing it himself, because his pelvic muscles are relaxed too and not hurting or limiting him. “You can keep doing that all day,” he jokes, and opens his eyes to see Steve’s amused face looking down at him. 

“We’ll have to work it into our schedule, then,” he says softly, and they share one of _those_ looks again, like the one they shared the first day they met. The one when Bucky felt like his guts were being twisted around and rearranged inside his body, but in a good way. Steve’s eyes linger on his, and there’s so much unsaid in that stare that Bucky feels like his chest wall will burst open and spew butterflies all over the place. 

He can’t lie there and get stretched out the whole day, though, so all too quickly they move on to his exercise program. At one point, Steve is over by the water cooler grabbing a drink and his therapist bumps him with her elbow.

“So, are you going to tell me, or do I have to pry the information out of you?” 

Bucky cocks his head to one side. “What?”

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. “You’re friends with Captain America. _Captain America!_ How does that happen?” Before he can answer, she pats his arm. “By the way, thank you for the eye candy. You just made my entire week.”

Bucky grins and chuckles. So she _did_ recognize him. She’s just classy enough not to make a big deal out of it. “We met through a mutual friend. And you’re welcome.” 

The rest of therapy flies by and before he knows it, it’s time to go. As he and Steve make their way back out to the car, Bucky admires the clear blue sky. It’s a beautiful day, perfect for what he had in mind to show Steve. If he hasn’t seen it already, anyway. 

As if Steve is reading his mind, he asks Bucky, “Hey, I know we said after lunch, but do you want to do whatever you had planned now?” Steve looks at him uncertainly. “I mean, since we’re together anyway…”

Bucky grins at him and stops next to the driver’s side of the Jeep before going around to the other side. “Sure, the weather’s great for it.” 

Steve’s eyebrows rise. “So, it’s outside, is it?” he says merrily, and unlocks the car doors. 

“Mmhmm.” 

“That’s not going to be too much for you right after therapy?”

Bucky pushes his walker around the car and climbs in, thinking. His hamstring twitches, but so far it’s holding up well, so he thinks he’ll be alright with a little bit of walking. Just like at the park, they’ll have to go slow. He tells Steve he thinks he can handle it, and as soon as he names their destination, those eyes light up with excitement. 

“Thought you’d like that,” Bucky purrs.

“I like it a lot,” Steve exclaims and strokes his chin. “Wonder if I can guess which section?”

Bucky tips his head right and left, considering this. “If you’ve seen it before, then yes, it’ll make sense.” 

Halfway there, Bucky receives a text from Sam, asking how dinner was last night. 

Bucky types: _Great. Steve’s with me right now- gave me a ride to PT when Darcy bailed._

Another message pops up right away: _Did he spend the night with you?_

Bucky’s mouth hangs open. He glances at Steve, driving along innocently, then back down to his phone and types: _SAM! No!_ He can almost hear Sam’s laughter in his head. 

Sam sends: _Just checking. I could have given you a ride, why didn’t you call?_

_Because you were sick, dumbass._

Bucky’s eyes narrow when the next text comes. _Oh, right. I was SO sick._

He taps in: _Are you at work right now?_

Sam’s answer reads: _Yeah. Felt much better this morning._

Bucky’s bullshit meter dings loudly. Was Sam faking illness to give him alone time with Steve? 

_You’re unbelievable_ , he sends.

Sam’s reply makes him laugh. _I hear that a lot._

Steve looks over. “Everything alright?”

Bucky smiles. “Everything’s fine.”

They arrive at the National Gallery of Art and park the car. “Which building?” Steve asks inquisitively, and looks surprised when Bucky shakes his head. 

“Not a building,” he hints. “The Sculpture Garden.” 

Steve’s lips form a puckered up circle. “Ooh, the Sculpture Garden.” They exit the car and Steve is around to Bucky’s side before Bucky is even all the way out of his seat, holding his door open and making sure he can get out easily. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in there,” Steve admits.

Bucky is glad to hear that, because then he’ll get to see Steve’s first response to his favorite exhibit in the entire place. Of course there are loads of tourists to pilot their way through, and the trip in is frustratingly slow because he’s so eager to get out into the Garden, but finally they approach the patch of grass he’s aiming for. In the backdrop are well manicured shrubs and trees, and the center of the grassy area contains a stainless steel tree, almost fifty feet tall and just as wide, with two distinct sections. One half of the tree is very linear, with straight branches and a sleek look. The other half is all gnarled and twisted, as if two types of trees were fused together into one. 

It’s an amazing feat of artistry and Bucky loves coming here to simply stare at the long branches reaching up into the blue sky. He sneaks a peek at Steve’s face to gauge his reaction and is pleased to see Steve looking awed, mouth hanging slightly open as his eyes sweep over the structure, up and down and over and back. 

“Wow,” he says, and Bucky grins. 

Wow, indeed. They stand there for quite some time, enjoying the sight, until Bucky shifts uncomfortably and draws Steve’s eye. 

“Do you need to sit down for a while?” Steve queries astutely. “We’ve been standing for a long time.”

Bucky nods. “Sitting sounds good right now.” 

Steve looks back the way they came, then at Bucky. “How about lunch at the Pavilion Café?” He pats his stomach. “I know I could eat.” 

“That’s a great idea.” 

The Pavilion Café is attached to the Gallery and in fact, has a great view of the Sculpture Garden. Bucky’s legs feel very fatigued by the time they get there, but they enjoy a nice lunch of sandwiches and it feels good to sit and rest. Steve gets Bucky to talk about the sculptures there that he likes, and he gets Steve to tell him what parts of the Gallery he likes best (of course Steve is drawn to the paintings).

“We’ll have to come back again when I can walk more and go inside the buildings,” Bucky suggests, and he likes the way that makes Steve smile. 

By the time they’re ready to head out, the time up on his feet is taking a toll on Bucky. As much as he tries to hide it, Steve notices how labored his gait is on the way back to the car. 

“I think we should stretch that hammie out when we get back to your house, Buck,” Steve advises, and Bucky jumps at the chance because A) Steve! and B) the hammie in question is pretty sore. 

“Okay,” he says eagerly, settling into the car seat and wondering if it would be weird to turn on the seat heater to warm up his tight, stiff leg. 

Fortunately the drive back to his row house is relatively short, as the Gallery is on Constitution Street. The car seat digs into the back of his leg uncomfortably though, and he’s glad to get out at the end of the journey. When he stands up outside of the Jeep, he makes the mistake of trying to extend his leg and stretch. Immediately, the pain grabs at him and he groans out loud. 

“Ohh, fuck,” he curses and grabs at the back of his leg. It’s not cramping actively, it’s just painful.

Steve is at his side in a flash. “Can you walk inside?” Concern is etched across his face. 

“Yeah, I can walk,” Bucky claims, though he’s not actually certain that’s true. He hobbles inside, gym bag forgotten on Steve’s back seat. Mentally he hurls curses right and left at this weakness in his body that makes him feel so frail, in front of someone who is so very strong. The inequity is jarring and he hates himself for it. Steve has never made him feel weak, though. That’s just his own insecurity. 

He’s breathing hard once they get inside his house; he heads for the kitchen first and a barstool, simply because it’s the easiest chair to get in and out of. Gingerly he sits on the edge of the chair, facing away from the island and shoving his walker away from him in disgust. He lets his leg rest, sticking out in front of him awkwardly. Steve takes the stool next to him, so close that their shoulders are touching. 

“Anything I can do?” he asks sympathetically. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky straightens out his slumped shoulders. “I need a distraction,” he says. 

Steve sounds puzzled. “A distraction?” 

“Yeah. A distraction. Something to take my mind off it while I let it calm down,” Bucky explains, looking at Steve. “Tell me something about you I don’t know.”

“Something you don’t know,” Steve says, sounding thoughtful but a bit like a broken record.

“Yeah. Like, you couldn’t do arithmetic when you were a kid. You like bubble baths. I don’t care. Anything,” Bucky finishes, looking expectantly at him. 

“Anything?” 

There is a lilt to Steve’s voice that wasn’t there a moment ago, and the hair on Bucky’s arms stands up. He nods slowly, feeling like they’re now talking about a new subject entirely. “Anything.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “I’ve got something.” His eyes meet Bucky’s. Oh, those eyes. The throbbing in Bucky’s leg slowly moves to the background of his consciousness as he looks into those eyes. Steve’s gaze definitely flicks from Bucky’s eyes down to his mouth and back, and a sharp bolt of lust lodges somewhere in Bucky’s gut.

“I have to show you, though, not tell you.” Steve’s voice is coaxing but tentative at the same time. Hopeful. He spins a little in his seat, turning more towards Bucky, eyes staying locked on his. “And I have to get closer.”

Blood is thundering in Bucky’s ears as he nods. _Closer is good._ He can’t even feel his leg under the intensity of that look, and his uneven breaths sound harsh in the silence of the room. Steve leans in closer, and he’s so into Bucky’s personal space now that Bucky can feel the heat radiating off of him. Steve’s body runs _hot_. Bucky doesn’t know why that’s sexy, but it is. 

Steve’s eyes are almost glittering, dark pupils expanding. “Ready?” he breathes, and he’s so close, _God_ he’s so close. 

“Show me,” Bucky whispers. 

There’s that moment when you know it’s going to happen and the nervous anticipation turns to complete exhilaration. That’s where Bucky is when Steve leans the rest of the way in. His mouth ghosts over Bucky’s, so lightly it’s like he wasn’t all the way sure of himself, wasn’t sure Bucky would be receptive. The second kiss is more confident; searching lips find Bucky’s and make soft, gentle contact. The kiss lingers just for a second, as though both of them are unwilling to pull away, and that seems to embolden Steve. They separate, but only minutely; Steve still gazes deeply into Bucky’s eyes and Bucky can feel his quick, warm breaths on his skin. His own lips tingle with rapturous excitement, and he _wants._ He wants more of this, more of Steve’s mouth on his. 

Steve just _kissed_ him. Steve _wants_ him. Finally the uncertainty is gone and he can stop wondering how to define what they have together. It’s not just peanut butter and jelly. It’s more. It’s going to be so much more.

“Peanut butter and chocolate,” he whispers, and smiles when Steve’s eyes turn questioning. “You’re better than peanut butter and chocolate.” Steve’s eyes crinkle up as he smiles. “Kiss me again,” Bucky demands, but in a nice way. 

Steve’s knee presses against his as he moves closer still. The hand that was resting on the kitchen countertop snakes up behind Bucky’s head and holds him possessively at the back of his neck. Steve pulls him in, totally in command, and kisses him a third time, pressing his top and bottom lip around Bucky’s lower lip, nibbling at it tenderly. His lips are parted slightly as he glides his bottom lip against Bucky’s. It’s not an actual kiss, more like an invitation, and Bucky accepts it. 

His lips part as well as he too, leans in and captures Steve’s lips, kissing him and delicately swiping his tongue just inside Steve’s open mouth. Pulling back, they look at each other one more time before the kissing begins in earnest. Both make a move, hands reaching for each other, licking into each other’s mouths and sealing their lips together hungrily. Heat sears its way through Bucky’s body as if he’s on fire everywhere. 

He feels the deep but quiet moan in Steve’s throat, and it drives him wild with need. He slides his hands around Steve’s waist, trying to get more contact between their bodies. They’re kissing deeply now, wrapped up in each other, oblivious to anything else. Bucky hears himself moan, too, as Steve’s tongue delves deeper into his mouth. 

They kiss for what feels like a long time and no time to Bucky, hands moving over each other’s backs and sides and hips. Somewhere in his brain Bucky registers the fact that Steve’s shirt really is as soft as it looks, but he’ll forego pressing his face into it as long as they keep devouring each other with kisses. 

By the time they pull back, lips reddened and swollen, arms still wrapped around each other greedily, Bucky’s euphoria is at a high. He feels no pain in his leg whatsoever, even though he knows it should be aching like crazy. Nothing matters when Steve’s mouth is on his. 

“Wow,” Steve says breathlessly.

Wow, indeed. 

“Now there’s something I didn’t know about you,” Bucky teases, touching his lips to Steve’s and kissing them gently. 

Steve smiles and cups Bucky’s face in both hands, giving him one more sweet, lingering kiss. “So I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me?”

Bucky’s smile can’t be contained to just his face. He feels like his entire body must be smiling. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“How’s your leg?” Steve glances down at Bucky’s legs and back to his eyes. 

“What leg?” 

\--

Okay, so Steve definitely knows how to make the first move. That’s what Bucky tells himself when, almost a month later, they haven’t progressed a whole lot beyond kissing and groping. Granted, it’s hot, steamy kissing that curls Bucky’s toes, and they’ve gotten some heavy petting in that gets them both off quickly and messily with their clothes still on, but whenever he thinks there might be more, Steve seems to back off. 

So what’s the deal? He’s not sure if it’s just that Steve is old-fashioned, or that this time he’s waiting for Bucky to initiate going further. Because Bucky definitely _wants_ to go further. He’s never met anyone who did it for him like Steve does. The thing is, he doesn’t want just a one night stand. He wants to _keep_ Steve for good, so if he has to wait for him to be ready, he’s willing to wait. 

But not if he doesn’t have to. 

They’ve been seeing each other several times a week. Bucky has been to Steve’s apartment a few times, but mostly they spend time at Bucky’s because Steve’s unit is an upper, and steps are still not terrific fun for those on injured reserve. The Bengay has gotten a lot of use, but the total number of _fuck this shits_ that Bucky has been thinking lately has decreased. Physically he’s on the mend, slowly but surely. Emotionally they’ve connected with each other, without a doubt. 

While Steve’s public persona may be larger than life, Bucky has found that in private, he’s just a normal guy. Sure, a normal guy whose hotness level registers somewhere in the stratosphere, but a normal guy who likes doing normal things. Whether that means visiting Bucky’s studio to check out his stuff (they’ve done that) or exploring a nearby farmer’s market (they’ve done that, too) Steve is down with it. And Bucky? He doesn’t care what they do, as long as it’s together. He’s even getting used to the frequent interruptions from people who want autographs or pictures. He doesn’t like it, but he’s getting used to it. 

So, aside from the fact that he hasn’t gotten into Steve’s pants yet, everything has been great. More than great, phenomenal. And yet, something still seems to be holding Steve back. 

They’ve just finished watching a movie on Bucky’s couch, sitting with their legs intertwined together and a bunch of pillows shoved behind Bucky’s back to make him comfortable, when Bucky decides to get frisky. Carefully he turns himself around so that he’s sitting on Steve’s lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of Steve’s hips. 

Their chests are pressed together as they kiss, lazily at first and then with more heat. Honestly, he can’t get enough of kissing Steve. It’s embarrassing, how quickly Steve’s mouth turns him into a melted puddle of butter. Steve may say he doesn’t have a lot of experience with sex, but he sure as fuck knows what to do with his mouth and his hands to bring Bucky to an orgasmic state. Bucky’s got a hard-on that’s reaching epic proportions when he reaches down between their bodies and rubs a hand over Steve’s crotch experimentally, delighting in the thick bulge that’s formed there as well.

“Mmm,” Steve mutters between kisses. “Buck,” he whispers, hands clutching at his lower back. Instinctively he arches up, lifting his hips into Bucky’s touch. “If you keep doing that right now, I’m gonna want a lot more than kissing.”

Bucky mouths his way along Steve’s jawline, kissing and licking the soft skin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

There is a short bark of laughter. “Do I actually need to remind you that you recently suffered a severe injury, which you are still recovering from?”

Bucky sits back in surprise. “Oh, is that all?” he says incredulously, smiling. Has Steve been holding back because he’s worried about _breaking_ Bucky?

Steve gapes. “What do you mean, _is that all?_ Bucky, you have a broken pelvis! We can’t…”

Waving a hand at him, Bucky makes a _ppfffftt_ noise. “There are ways around that.” He slides his arms over Steve’s shoulders. “I’m not made of _glass_ , Steve. If you _want_ me, you can _have_ me.”

“But…” Steve’s face still looks full of doubt, but Bucky kisses it away, pressing his lips to Steve’s and letting his mouth fall open. 

Steve kisses him back enthusiastically, tasting him and pulling him back in close, chests flush together, his hands directly on Bucky’s ass. Bucky grinds against him suggestively. 

“Besides,” he murmurs between kisses, “Doc said I can do whatever _gentle_ exercise I want.” He kisses Steve’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, then puts his mouth against Steve’s ear. “So you just have to be gentle with me, that’s all.”

He looks back into Steve’s eyes, which have grown dark with arousal. Mr. I Can Throw A Tank Over My Head _likes_ that idea. “I can be gentle,” he says, with a voice as rough as gravel. 

“Well, okay then,” Bucky says decisively.

“Okay then,” Steve agrees, and a hint of a smile forms. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” 

Bucky smirks back, shaking his head. _Smart ass._

They kiss again, hot and heavy, letting their erections grow, until Steve pulls back and says, “I want to make you feel good, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky starts to argue, and Steve puts his fingers to his mouth to shut him up. “Bucky…I want you... inside me. Can you?”

The rest of the question is left unsaid, but is unnecessary anyway. Bucky _can._ Honestly, he had envisioned himself bottoming for Steve, but fucking into that perfect ass? _Yes please._ He’s surprised and pleased by the directness of Steve’s words, having wondered if he would be quite shy in the bedroom, just owing to his lack of experience. 

_Guess you don’t have to worry about that._

“Come on,” he says, and pushes back away from Steve carefully so he can stand up. 

He’s got to do the fucking stairs that still make him feel slow and disabled, but there’s no way around it. He’s worried it will take so long that Steve will change his mind half way up, but in his current condition, no way is he staying awkwardly on the couch, or getting on the hard floor. Not when he’s got a perfectly good bed available. Steve stays behind him on the way upstairs and though Bucky takes one step at a time, it is much faster than when he was in the hospital and trying this. 

He’s made enough progress to be able to leave the walker downstairs and just use the walls and furniture upstairs if he needs support, so when they reach the top of the stairwell, Bucky heads straight down the hall to his bedroom. He’s got one hand on the wall to guide him, and with the other he grabs onto Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

The room is dark but Bucky doesn’t flick on the switch to the ceiling fixture. There’s enough light spilling in from the hallway to be sufficient. Once they reach the edge of the king-sized bed, he suddenly feels nervous. He’s never been naked in front of _Captain America_ before! Steve doesn’t hesitate at all, though. Immediately he faces Bucky and reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull upward and get it off over his head. 

Bucky returns the favor, bringing Steve’s shirt up over his chest, and Steve helps him out by whipping it up over his head and getting it the rest of the way off. His eyes immediately return to Bucky’s bare chest, and his hands go round Bucky’s waist as he whispers his name reverently. 

“Bucky.”

For his part, Bucky’s eyes are glued to Steve’s chest. Fucking hell, it’s _amazing_. So much muscle. Even without flexing, Steve has easily the sexiest torso Bucky has ever seen. Broad shoulders and beautifully formed pecs and a ripped stomach all taper down to a slender waist and and gorgeous hips. 

The jeans have to come off. 

He hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Steve’s pants and tugs. “Take these off,” he whispers, and leans in to plant a kiss at the center of Steve’s chest before pushing away and reaching down for his own fly. Steve nods and then clothes are quickly shed. Well, quickly in Steve’s case. Their shoes were off already downstairs and Steve shimmies out of the rest of his clothing before Bucky even has his pants down. 

But that works out well, because once Steve is naked, he steps closer and murmurs, “Here, let me help.”

His warm hands slide down the inside of Bucky’s boxer briefs, right over his hips, and push everything down. He then guides Bucky with his hands on his hips, turning him and getting him to sit down on the bed. Obediently Bucky sits, then watches and takes shallow, hot breaths as Steve drops to his knees in front of him and pulls off his clothes.

His erection is thick and getting thicker as Steve’s eyes focus on it. Once Bucky’s clothes are out of the way he scoots in closer, getting between his legs with his hands on Bucky’s thighs, running up and down the lengths of them as he settles in. _Oh God please_. 

Steve looks up at him once, just to make sure Bucky’s on board, then drops his head. _Yesssss._ Soft, wet tongue glides up one side of his shaft, followed by Steve’s open mouth, lips dragging along the same length.

“Uhhhhh!” Bucky moans, brain shorting out and refusing to issue forth any real words. 

Fortunately Steve seems to take that as encouragement. His hand wraps around the base of Bucky’s cock, thumb rubbing over it as his mouth closes over the head. He sucks just the head in, lips tight around it, bobbing just slightly, moving it in and out of his mouth rhythmically. 

Bucky leans back, propping his hands behind him on the bed but keeping his eyes on Steve’s mouth as he sucks at him, blond head and those immense shoulders moving slowly.

“Nnngggg….oh, yes!” Bucky rasps out through his parched throat. He congratulates himself on getting out a real word before he loses the power of speech again.

His cock is throbbing, leaking right into Steve’s mouth as he suckles at the head. Steve pulls off and drags his tongue over Bucky’s hard length, then closes over the head again and swallows him down. _Oh oh oh_. It’s all warm, wet tongue and lips, sliding over his cock, taking all of it that he can, bobbing his head up and down. When Steve said he didn’t tell anyone else he was gay, he must not have been including all the other guys he’d been with already, because there’s _no way_ this is his first blow job. 

It’s so fantastic, if he lets Steve keep going he’ll come for sure in a manner of minutes. He doesn’t want that yet, though, so as hard as it is, he touches the back of Steve’s head with his hand and whispers, “Steve. Not yet.” 

Steve pulls off and looks up at him, lips glistening and puffy, and he’s already on the way up to Bucky as the brunet demands, “Get up here.”

Steve’s mouth crashes against his and Bucky has to brace both hands behind him again so as not to be bowled over in Steve’s enthusiasm. His kiss is hard and demanding, tasting of Steve and himself. Reaching up with one hand, he touches Steve’s chest by the sternum and pushes against it gently. Steve gets the message and moves over and up onto the bed more, releasing Bucky’s mouth only when he must. 

They pull apart with a soft smack of their lips and Bucky instructs him to lie down. If they’re going to do this, it’s going to take lots of prep. Steve slides up to the head of the bed and lies down on his back. God, his erection is _gigantic_. Guess that serum really enhanced _everything_ , Bucky thinks fleetingly, before considering the best position to do this in. 

“Bucky…” Steve starts to say, and Bucky shushes him as he gets into his bedside drawer for some lube. 

“Just relax,” he tells him softly. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

“I know. I’m worried about you,” Steve replies, and the words are spoken so matter-of-factly, Bucky knows they’re the truth.

Steve trusts him _completely_ , and if Bucky wasn’t so fucking horny he would take the time to really acknowledge that tender moment. But he _is_ really fucking horny, so he smiles and gives Steve another slow, lingering kiss before getting on his hands and knees between his spread legs. That’s going to be the least demanding position to hold right now, or so he thinks. Sliding one hand underneath Steve’s muscled hamstring, he pulls upward to get him to bend his knees and give him better access. 

He can hardly drag his gaze away from Steve’s impressive erection, but when he does so, he’s not sorry. Because there it is, Steve’s tight little hole, just waiting for him. With his fingers slicked up, he rubs one over the puckered skin, delighting in the little gasp Steve makes and the way he fists the bed’s comforter up in his hands. 

“This isn’t gonna feel good at first,” Bucky warns him.

Steve immediately urges him to continue. “Bucky… _please_.” 

Unable to resist that _please_ , Bucky finds his entrance and slowly pushes past that tight ring and into his body. He goes slowly, giving Steve time to adjust to the intrusion. It takes a good while to open Steve up enough, but he’s patient. And all he has to do to keep his erection is think about how damn good it’s going to feel to get his cock inside Steve’s hot, soft passage. 

Steve has been taking his fingers like a champ, too, like his ass was made to take Bucky’s cock, and there’s no shortage of stimulation in that thought, either. When Bucky strokes his prostate, Steve arches and just about shoots up off the bed. The filthy, dirty moaning sound that erupts out of his throat almost pushes Bucky over the edge.

“Buck…oh my God,” Steve groans, head thrown back on a pillow and cock jutting up, proud and tall against his belly. 

When Bucky thinks Steve is finally ready for the real deal, he withdraws his fingers and grabs the lube. He can’t stay like this, so he whispers, “Steve, I think I need to be on my back.” 

In an instant, Steve is up and piling pillows on top of each other so Bucky can lie back against them, instinctively knowing what he needs. Once he’s lubed himself up, Bucky shifts and takes Steve’s spot, lying back in a semi-reclining position on the mound of pillows he’s kept on his bed since the accident. Once he’s comfortable, he holds his hands up, searching for Steve’s. 

Steve takes Bucky’s hands and walks on his knees closer, lifting one leg up and over Bucky’s hips to sit on his lap. It’s _perfect_. He releases Bucky’s hands and puts his own on Bucky’s shoulders tentatively. 

“Tell me…what to do.” 

It’s the first time he’s shown any hesitancy, and Bucky suspects it’s because he’s worried again about hurting him. 

Bucky’s got his own cock in his hand, holding it at a good angle for Steve to be able to lower himself down onto it. “Just…line up and then ease down slowly,” he instructs his new lover, and Steve lifts himself up right away, again trusting Bucky without question. 

Steve finds the right spot and sinks down gradually, breaching himself with a small gasp. His eyes are on Bucky’s, lips parted, chest heaving rapidly. 

“If it’s too much, don’t take it all at once,” Bucky directs him, and Steve promptly sinks all the way down in one smooth motion, because he is a stubborn, sexy idiot. Bucky almost sees stars. It’s so goddamn good, being enveloped in Steve’s tight heat, he can’t even talk at first. They both stay still; both of them make groaning noises, but Steve’s is the loudest. 

He’s seated himself fully, the cheeks of his ass resting on Bucky’s body but not squashing him. He’s careful to keep most of his weight off of Bucky’s pelvis, which takes a lot of strength in itself. Fortunately for Bucky, Steve isn’t lacking in that department. He puts his hands on Steve’s waist and encourages him to start rocking back and forth.

“Slowly…just go slowly,” he requests, knowing Steve will do whatever he needs him to do, because he trusts him completely, too. 

Rolling his hips gently, Steve starts to gyrate. His movements are measured and careful at first, and it’s less of a shock to Bucky’s system than he expected it to be. There’s very little discomfort involved (not that a lot of discomfort would have stopped him, but still, it’s a bonus he wasn’t expecting). He lets Steve go for a while, keeping to his own pace, rejoicing in every single small moan and cry that come out of his mouth. 

His cock rejoices in those small sounds too, throbbing and pulsing as Steve slowly rides him. A light sheen of sweat starts to form on Bucky’s chest, and when he feels like he’s going to explode with need, he asks for what he wants.

“Harder.”

Steve looks down at him, hands still on his shoulders, and Bucky can tell he’s hesitant to comply. 

“ _Harder_ , baby. You won’t hurt me,” he assures him.

Thrusting his hips a little more forcefully, Steve starts getting into the new rhythm. Bucky wants this to be as enjoyable as it possibly can be for him, so he offers more advice.

“Find your spot, Steve, the one I found with my fingers.”

Steve’s eyes are closed; his brow wrinkles in concentration as he shifts his angle some, searching, then shifts again. On his next deep thrust, he cries out and tips his head back. _There it is._

“Buck!” he gasps, and his strokes are truly harder now as he impales himself over and over on Bucky’s hard length. 

His body squeezes around Bucky with every pass, sending waves of pleasure moving through him at an ever increasing pace. Bucky holds Steve’s hips, not to control his movement but to experience him in a tactile way with his hands, too. Those slinky hips, rocking and snapping; it’s sensational, and the feel of his thigh muscles, contracting against the outside of Bucky’s hips as he pistons himself forward and back is unparalleled. So is the flushed skin that extends all the way down to Steve’s beautiful chest. If he could lean forward far enough, he’d lick all the way down the center of those glorious pecs.

He can’t really move, though. His muscles have locked up as he feels himself erupt, coming inside Steve’s body hard and fast, and he cries out, “Oh!”

Steve looks down at him, concern replacing the blissful expression that was there a second ago. “Is that a good oh or a bad oh?” he asks, momentarily slowing down. 

“Good oh! Good oh!” Bucky croaks. “Don’t stop!” 

Relaxing again, Steve drives his hips in a few more times before Bucky’s orgasm has slowed. He thinks about getting a hand on Steve’s cock, but before he does so, Steve has reached his peak and comes hard, spurting messy seed between their stomachs. He whimpers a few times and slows down, then eventually stops moving, letting Bucky’s softening cock slip from inside him. 

“Steve,” Bucky groans, and the blond comes to him at once, sliding a hand along Bucky’s jaw and kissing him, tenderly at first and then harder, deeper. 

Bucky holds him tightly to his chest, gripping the huge scapular muscles that stand out in the middle of Steve’s back. He doesn’t care in the least about the sticky mess, but when they do break apart, he makes sure to provide after-care as best he can. 

Pointing to the bedside table, he whispers, “Hey…could you grab the wet wipes?” 

Steve helpfully reaches over, pulls open the drawer and grabs the package. Bucky takes it right out of his hands and pulls some out, cleaning Steve up first and then himself. The wipes get dropped into the small trash can directly by the bed. Steve drops down onto his side next to Bucky, but only after getting the pillows arranged perfectly for him. 

Bucky is on his back with Steve snuggled up into his side, arm splayed across Bucky’s chest. “You feeling okay?” he asks, running a hand up and down Steve’s forearm. 

“I’m feeling fantastic,” Steve mumbles sleepily. “You okay?”

Bucky smiles. “I’m great.” 

In truth, tomorrow he suspects the Bengay will be vital, but for right now, everything is terrific. They fall asleep together like that, close enough that it’s hard to tell where one starts and the other stops, and Bucky is shocked that he doesn’t wake till morning. That _never_ happens. When he stirs and sees light streaming into the room, he can’t believe it. Guess a little sex with Steve goes a long way. 

Steve wakes as well, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes blearily. “Hey you.” He leans down and gives Bucky a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Last night was…I had no idea it could be like that.”

Smiling, Bucky stretches in place. “You were amazing,” he says, meaning it one hundred percent. 

Watching him stretch, Steve brushes aside the compliment in his typical modest fashion. “How are you feeling?” 

Bucky is stiff as hell, but nothing a nice, hot shower won’t cure. “Awesome. How ‘bout you? Sore down there?”

Steve smiles, and his bedhead is freaking adorable. “A little,” he answers, wiggling a touch in place. “Not bad, though.”

Grinning, Bucky pushes himself up to sitting as well. “Good thing you’re a fast healer, otherwise you’d be feeling me for days.” 

Steve’s smile grows until it covers his entire face, and Bucky knows what he’s going to say even before he says it. 

“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

\--

~ fin ~


End file.
